Lord of the Hive
by Stormonu
Summary: Sergeant Naylor and his alien-hunting squad are called back into action to deal with an enemy menace on a nearby moon. But what starts as a 'simple' mission soon goes wrong and become a dire hunt in search of revenge. (2/16/15) - Story has undergone some editting, reflow of chapters and an additional story revelation (in Chapter 15). Sorry if this rearrangement throws anyone off.
1. Chapter 1

OneEight Hundred Hours Planet Dengor, Military Base 8

The wind screeched in protest, clawing with sandy nails at the concrete tarmac at USMC base 8. The ground around the concrete pad was pitted, bare rock, worn smooth by the incessant howling wind. The only exception to the bare rock were a few rolling pebbles who hurriedly attempted to escape the wind's vile grasp. Fine sand swirled everywhere, resting wherever it could find shelter from the biting wind. Yet whenever the wind would shift, once again the grating tan particles would flee, seeking some other shelter. Nearly fifty meters above, a whale-shaped ship slowly swung in the sand-speckled black sky. The huge gray-brown behemoth slowly swayed in the heavy winds, red and green lights blinking against the blinding sandstorm as it sought to land on the ground far below. The strain on the ship's engines as it bore its considerable mass against the sharp wind caused the sand-choked vents to whine even above the biting wind.

Inside the darkly tinted canopy of the dropship, the pilot and his copilot battled against the shifting winds as they slowly brought the massive machine down with computerized aid. Neither pilot let his gaze off the mass of gauges and readouts within the cockpit to look out through the sand-buried canopy at the night sky beyond. Instead, each concentrated and adjusted controls within their grasp as computer-enhanced readouts displayed on their helmets fed them even more information. The dropship's computer chatted to them nonchalantly about various engine and air-fuel-sand mixtures as the two crewmen directed the ship down toward the concrete pad. As the ship descended closer to the planet's surface, the captain of the dropship began an audible count.

"13 meters. Grant - activate the magnetic landing locks."

_Click._

"Activated," the copilot replied as the computer confirmed the magnetic locks reaching full capacity.

The two pilots continued, running through a well-practiced landing procedure as the computer continued to chattily update the two men on the ship's status and compliance with their orders.

Back in the cargo area just to the rear of the cockpit, six marines and two scientists grasped their safety harnesses as the ship occasionally wobbled in the shifting wind. The marines were calm; they had performed landings under the fire of combat, but the two scientists were visibly nervous, their knuckles white as they grasped their harnesses. One of the two looked a bit green from the ship's slow undulations, and those near him eyed him carefully in case he were to loose his lunch suddenly.

"12 meters!" the captain announced aloud in the cockpit. The computer confirmed the approach audibly a moment later

"11," came after a second's pause, this time the computer's voice ringing out alone.

"10"  
"9"  
"8"  
_Wrrr-click_

The magnetic locks took hold as they grabbed at the metal pylons buried underneath the concrete. With the strengthened pull, the ship ceased to slowly undulate, and the remaining few meters slid away quickly, ending with the ship landing with a bit of a lurch as the magnetic locks anchored the ship to the planet's surface. Once the jostling ended, the marines quickly unclipped their harnesses and stood. The two scientists were a bit slower, and seemed to wobble their way out of their seats just as the intercom clicked into life.

"Thank you for flying Air Dengor - please think of us for your next certain death mission," rang a sardonic voice – the pilot's – the marines noted.

Sergeant Naylor, the marine squad's commander, let a smug grin spread across his face at the dry humor that echoed from the comm. Two weeks of stubble chaffed his skin as he rubbed it, his eyes quietly darting over each marine he passed. He was the first to the rear ramp of the dropship, and once there, whirled about to face his marines. The remaining marines were activating their magnetic boots and adjusting their tactile strength at holding them to the floor. A small dial set into their belts operated the mechanisms, and the marines were obviously skilled at setting and using the devices. Naylor nodded to himself. Six months of quiet guard duty on earth, and they hadn't forgotten a thing. After Naylor noted that everyone seemed comfortable with their settings, and everyone's protective suits had been donned, he jabbed the control beside him that operated the dropship's rear bay door.

_Wrrrrrhhhhhhnnnnnngggggg_

The door whined open and Sergeant Charles Naylor stepped down the descending ramp. He strode down the ramp, his steel-wound muscles braced against the blowing wind. He'd have been smoking a cigarette if it wasn't for the damn wind, and he couldn't scratch the stubble behind the face mask that protected him from the bitter wind. He'd lost a good bit of his tan while back on Earth, but the small scar just above his right eye had never gone away, or been forgotten.

Behind him was Naylor's right-hand man, Corporal William Drafe. Over his marine fatigues he wore the same dark grey protective suit that all the others wore. He was a bit burlier than Naylor, but half a head shorter and of darker completion. Behind Drafe walked privates Katie Stevenson and Suzie Quince, two of the most congenial and deadly female marines Naylor ever had the pleasure of commanding. Katie was old hand in Naylor's band – she had been a private right along with Naylor at the start of both of their careers. It was because of this friendship that Naylor had let Katie grow her black hair out long, despite regulations. She had a bewitching beauty, unmarred despite the extensive campaigns both she and Naylor had endured. Suzie, on the other hand was a recent addition – her first mission had been Naylor's last mission before they were assigned to Earth. She kept her icy-white hair short, and had blue eyes that could freeze anyone she dared to glare at, or melt the heart of any man she took liking to.

Following Katie and Suzie was Silvio Taki, the jester of Naylor's band. The others often berated the wildly befuddled marine, but at the same time, Silvio's humor kept the group from succumbing to the horror and fear that had accompanied so many of their missions. Already Silvio had contorted his Latino features into a disdainful snarl and was hurling frivolous insults and meaninglessly bantering about the sand-whipped wind that battered them. Everyone was already ignoring him. The last of the marines was Private Grant Mager, who had instinctively taken his position to keep an eye on Silvio and the trailing scientists. Grant was about as plain as a marine came, with fresh-faced looks and sandy hair. He was certainly the youngest, at only nineteen year old, but he was not fresh out of high school and untested in battle. His plain looks hid his battle-tested nerves and skill. His attentiveness to detail had gotten Naylor out of many a tight spot, and the sergeant respected and admired this youngest marine for that unusual skill.

As the marines stepped off the dropship's ramp onto the tarmac, Naylor paused to scan the barren features of the planet. His marines stopped behind him, their gaze likewise scanning the area – not out of fear, but out of habits learned on myriad far-away worlds where nothing could be taken for granted. Each marine's muscles were tensed, expecting the worst of any moment and moving with both confidence and care that they could handle anything, anytime.

The scientists, on the other hand, were not coping too well with the fierce wind and almost had their legs snapped in two as the wind whipped about them. If it hadn't been for the boots, the two would have been tossed away like twigs in a tornado. Mager found himself helping the two more than he had intended, and even adjusted the belt of one of the two scientists when the man had difficulty moving against the wind.

It was a short walk from the dropship's ramp to the main sand-polished steel airlock that protruded from the rocky ground. Waiting for the group was a single individual dressed in a gray protective suit like the others. Naylor wasn't impressed that the fellow had chosen to wear his medals on the outside of the suit where they could easily be seen. Making out what the medals were for was impossible as the wind-driven sand tossed them about, threatening to steal them from the obviously annoyed soldier. As Naylor approached, he could recognize the shoulder badges that marked the greeting soldier as a lieutenant.

After a short salute, the lieutenant wordlessly whirled about and flipped up a small metal plate protecting the airlock's access panel. As the lieutenant entered an access code, Naylor nodded slightly to Katie, who at the nod intently watched the lieutenant's hand fly over the keys. A moment later and the access light on the small panel switched from red to green. Then, with a heavy grating sound, the huge airlock ground open. The small band passed through the three-foot thick steel plate doors, entering into the grossly squat military building.

Once everyone was inside, the door swung shut, sealing like the vault to a great mausoleum. With the blowing sand having lost its impetus, a thin layer of tan grit settled onto the floor as the marines shuffled about. Magnetic boots were switched off with a metallic click, and then the process of removing the stifling wind masks was marked by gasps of exasperation as the marines tasted the still, reprocessed air of the complex. It took a few minutes to drop out of the protective wind suits once inside, and it was noticeably silent out of the wind. The two scientists blew a sigh of relief as they helped each other out of the bulky gear. Naylor chuckled slightly to himself. The scientists looked fresh out of some Earth academy and reminded him of recruits he had dressed down as a senior in his old military academy.

No words passed between the marines and the lieutenant, nor between the marines and the scientists, though Mager and Suzie bantered until Naylor gave a deep-throated grunt as if clearing his throat. Once they were finished dressing down, the group continued deeper into the building. The hallways were hexagonal in shape, with thick bulkhead plates spaced evenly throughout the passage. Flickering fluorescent lighting that dangled little over a meter above their heads lit the way. The walls were hardly marked, except for occasional large yellow letters that divided the maze-like corridors into a series of alphabetically designated enumerations.

Finally, the hall ended in an ugly lift made of black-painted metal. It was open on only one side with walls that looked as if they had been riddled with bullets. The lift looked as though it could hold at least twenty people comfortably, and the lieutenant motioned for the group to step onto the lift. The group descended a total of five floors, and then continued through more abandoned corridors until they reached a thick, windowless metal door. A helmeted, motionless guard stood on each side of the door. Each of the guards held a ceremonial rifle tightly clasped across his chest, and the helmet was pulled down so that all that could be seen of their eyes were dark shadows. The only motion the two guards made was to click their heels in attention as the lieutenant approached. The lieutenant fingered the door control and it opened with a pneumatic whir. No sooner had it opened than Naylor could see beyond what looked like a conference room. It was of massive proportions, with a huge synthetic oak table in the middle surrounded by pseudo-leather high-backed chairs. The chairs squeaked uneasily as they swung towards the open door, revealing a host of overweight, sweaty officers sitting in the chairs.

Wearing all the medals that these officers possessed was probably the only exercise they received, and considering the weight of all that gold and silver, one would think they would be in much better shape. Naylor could see in their soft bellies that all of their medals came from sitting around drawing plans, filling out forms and sending perfectly good marines to die. Just looking at them made the sour taste of bile rise in Naylor's throat.

The lieutenant stood to the side, removing his hat as Naylor and the two scientists strode past into the room. As Naylor's marines moved up to follow, the guards closed rank to block their entry, and the metal door hissed shut behind them.

Corporal Drafe, who had been in the lead of Naylor's men, could only give the guards an annoyed look. Obviously, whatever they had been dragged here for was for Naylor's ears and eyes only. The marines stepped back, and Drafe shot a glance to the lieutenant. The lieutenant ignored Drafe's withering glare, saluted to the marines, then left, moving in a perfect military pace all the while.

Inside the conference room, a heavy-set and sharp-dressed general sat at the far end of the table. He greeted Naylor and the two scientists by name to the assembly. Naylor didn't bother to catch the scientist's names. He only cared about the name of this general that sat before him. He could make out the nameplate on the general's left breast, which read McGarrett.

"Good evening, gentlemen – and ladies," McGarrett stated, shaking the ashes of his cigar into the sythcrystal ashtray set before him. As he did, he nodded to the rest of the brass around the table. As introductions were made around the table, Naylor suddenly became acutely aware there was no seat for him. He had no choice but to stand.

"Sergeant Naylor, I gather you don't know why your team is here." McGarrett stated finally, a malicious grin thinly parting his lips to reveal the tips of the whitened teeth behind them. The sudden remark shook Naylor out of his annoyed thoughts.

He could already tell the General was a man who enjoyed being in control of the situation. He decided to retaliate with Silvio's tactics. "Yes sir I do, those drop-ships are pretty fast and very reliable, and they can get you anywhere." Naylor quipped back.

A smirk waved its way across all the mouths in the room, except the general's, before all eyes finally rested back on Naylor.

"Very funny, Sergeant," the General deadpanned. Naylor smirked back at the General before the heavy-joweled man continued, "You team is here because they are the best. You have survived ten xenomorph hive raids and three predator attacks with minimum casualties. Only three men have been lost, if I remember the reports correctly."

"Only partly true, sir." Naylor corrected, scowling. Like most of the brass he'd been forced to work under, they didn't care that those casualties had names or families. They were simply numbers accumulated to reach a desired target. "Several of us now have cybernetic body parts and mechanically repaired brains as a result of those missions and attacks," The last part was a lie, but he paused to let the words sink in to the fat heads around him before he rattled off, "For example, Corporal Drafe lost his right arm in our last hive raid." When Naylor noticed the staff seemed to be bored with that fact, he added. "And Private Mager lost his dick in one of those Pred attacks…"

"NAYLOR!" the General roared, rising. Naylor stiffened as several of the other brass suppressed a snicker. "Listen! Don't talk! I want you to watch the screen."

The General pushed a button in front of him and the lights went dim on their cue. A moment later, a huge screen slid down from a hidden recess in the roof, to Naylor's left. The General casually picked up a remote off the synthetic wood table and pressed a button on the middle of the remote. A large click resounded as a video flickered to life on the screen. It began to play a series of short clips as the General narrated over them. Most of suits didn't seem to be listening, as if they had heard it before. Naylor listened intently.

"As you know, Xenomorphs communicate telepathically, and our scientists have found a method to – communicate. By separating a Xeno's head from his body and placing certain electrodes in various parts of their brain, we can control other Xenos."

"Yeah, I've heard of that, sir," Naylor stated dryly, as he interrupted without thinking. "But I've heard that the cell tissue decomposes after a short period of time and then the technology is useless."

The general's face deformed into a scowl as his eyes seemed to burn at the sergeant's comments. Without a word, the general pressed another button on the remote. The image flickered again, as another video sprang to life on the screen. It showed a lab experiment that quickly devolved into grotesque terror.

The video began with a glass cell containing an inmate, cuffed to the chair he sat in. Wearing a helmet covered with strange electronics and electrodes, a scientist in the video could be seen observing from a nearby chamber. He had a look of deep concentration on his face, and a few moments into the video, a panel to the cell opened and a xenomorph calmly walked into the room, moving with an almost human gait. Despite the inmate's horrid screams, the creature calmly moved to within a few feet of the inmate and lowered itself into a pacifistic crouch. However, it only remained pacifistic for a few moments. The two scientists who were with Naylor's crew near fainted as they saw the apparently asleep Xenomorph suddenly rise from slumber and rip the inmate limb from limb, only 30 seconds after the effect had started. None of the brass at the table flinched - they had no understanding or compassion for those in the video. Naylor didn't flinch for a different reason. He had seen the Xenos do worse.

"We can overcome this problem by coating each electrode with formaldehyde and a cooling substance which then displaces throughout the brain, preserving it. Then, we then add a hardening concrete preservative to the skull to make sure it doesn't decompose around the brain. This makes sure that the head stays intact and useful."

"Very nice, but what does this have to do with my team?" Naylor asked dryly.

The lights suddenly bloomed to life, causing everyone but the general to blink rapidly for a short period of time. The general stood and glared at Naylor. Naylor didn't allow himself to be impressed. He and his marines had been pulled from a punitive guard duty on Earth and been brought to this frontier base - he knew the general needed him too badly to crack him on his remarks or attitude - at least until the mission was finished. Finally, the general relaxed, as a wry smile flicked across his face.

"This is the part you'll like," He pointed to a man on the left hand side of the table, dressed from head to toe in white. Naylor hadn't seen him when he walked in, he must have slipped in while the video had played, taking the place of one of the others suits who had given him his chair. The man was immaculate, which made Naylor queasy, and it was obvious he was a scientist; his features were much too similar to the scientists brought in with him to be anything else. "This is Professor Longman, he will explain."

Before speaking, Prof. Longman cleared his throat and slicked back his sandy blonde hair. There was enough goo in his hair to oil an APC, Naylor thought to himself. "Sergeant Naylor," he spoke in a voice so emotionless it grated on Naylor's nerves, "Two moons distant from this base we have discovered a small xenomorphic class two hunting colony. We want your men to go there and retrieve what you call a 'predator' for us to test our - "then for a moment, Prof. Longman paused, as if considering whether Naylor would understand his next few words. He seemed to decide otherwise, and finished,"'puppets'."

For a moment, Naylor stood in stunned silence. Then, he looked at his boots, and a moment later his head zoomed back up to eye level. His face was beaming with a cheeky grin, and he was practically laughing as he replied. Six months of quiet, and suddenly – this.

"So let me get this straight. You've brought us all this way - a month-and-a-half hyperspace ride, followed by two weeks of planet hopping in a dropship - all the way from Earth to here - just to send us packing to a hostile planet to try and nab a Predator without killing it?" He almost laughed aloud, caught himself, and then continued, "You want us to venture into what any other marine would call certain death just to get you a guinea pig for your experiments so you can get your jollies by watching the thing get torn apart?"

Longman swallowed, glancing momentarily toward the General. "Yes, that's pretty much it." Longman replied, when the general gave no response.

There was a moment of silence as Naylor swallowed. He'd initially thought they were going to send them to retrieve a xenomorph specimen, or worse, contain a xenomorph outbreak following a failure to control their little puppets. "When do we start?" He finally growled. He and his squad had been squatting on Earth for the past six months after Naylor had mouthed off to a colonel on the last mission. It had been the mission where Naylor had lost three marines due to the colonel's blunders. However, the colonel hadn't seen it that way. Naylor was ready to get off Earth and into action, but he wasn't sure how much he enjoyed facing a colony of Predators. Sure, his men could do it, but at what cost?

Before Naylor could access that cost, he heard a voice rumble. "You start almost immediately." It was the general. "Follow us." The general barked at Naylor, his heavy jowels giving Naylor the mental image of a bulldog snapping at him.

The general walked away from the table towards a door at the far end the conference room, quietly followed by Longman. The door slid open after the rest of the brass had exited out the entrance Naylor had been brought in. As Naylor watched the brass exit, the video screen slipped back up into its recess. Naylor's marines were brought into the room and followed Naylor out the door, not bothering to notice that as they did, the two door guards moved up to the scientists that had accompanied Naylor into the room. The two scientists were lead out a different door, partially hidden by the long shadows in the room.

The general and professor Longman led the marines through older, rectangular concrete corridors into what looked like a forgotten area of the base. After Longman entered a short code to a side room in the old hall, the marines entered what appeared to be old barracks. Along the walls were two sets of three bunks and six lockers, and in the middle was a table covered with weaponry. The professor stopped in the middle and pointed to a set of armor inside one of the lockers. With wide eyes, the marines gathered around the professor as he explained.

"This is the new armor we have developed especially for this mission. It suppresses all body emissions, making sure no heat radiates out so that a predator cannot detect your heat signature. With the face mask down, it also grants some protection against vacuum, about five minute's worth. But beware – we've found the predators can shift their vision range to detect the armor's electrical signature and if given warning, they will be able to see you."

The marines nodded, and Longman continued, "The suit has been tested to withstand three fully charged predator plasmacaster shots or about four pulse rifle bursts. Unfortunately, it can withstand but one predator speargun shot."

"_Oh_ great, so one shot from that and it's either death or extreme pain!" Silvio quickly chipped in.

"Only for a short while private," Longman responded. He tapped what looked like a series of lines or tattoos on the armor. "We picked this technology up from the… 'predators' themselves. You see, if the suit detects that a body part is missing –" Longman seemed to fail to notice several of the marines roll their eyes in dismay, "or you are badly injured, it will inject anesthetics and painkillers into that area to nullify the pain. It also treats shock and broken bones, so you can keep fighting, should you be missing, say, even an arm."

"Nice, I feel a little better," quipped Silvio.

Whether the professor took Silvio at his word or detected the sarcasm in his voice, he did not respond to it. Professor Longman instead turned to the table and urged the others to do the same.

"This is your standard issue class two xenomorph capture gear," He pointed to a multi-wire, blue-colored net "Electrical snare and cerebral disrupter net. But this," He pointed to a cluster of weaponry that looked like standard issue pulse rifles, smart guns and SADAR, "is a few new items that we have developed especially for this mission. Each has been modified to capture a 'predator' and not destroy it." As several of the marine's faces contorted in wonderment and apprehension, Professor Longman continued. "Allow me to explain. The pulse rifles now fire several four round bursts of high velocity tranquilizer darts and have been fitted to fire concussion grenades." He motioned to the grenade launcher as he continued. "The concussion grenade delivers a high pitched sound wave directly attuned to disrupt the predator's thought processes, causing temporary confusion and most likely unconsciousness." The marines nodded and as Silvio picked up a grenade to examine it closer, Longman added, "Make sure you are not too close when using this or your eardrums will burst and drown your brain in blood." Silvio suddenly looked up, and quickly but gently, put the grenade down.

"The smart gun also fire darts but the tracking system should give you improved aim. We've also given it special programming so the weapon will aim for the unarmed extremities, instead of seeking the center of mass."

"By the way," Professor Longman concluded, "If the predator is out for more than three minutes after getting him into the electrical snare you must apply this stimulant." He held up a syringe full of a yellowish gunk that looked strangely like urine, "Otherwise he will suffer permanent mental damage, will stop breathing and die."

"Pretty cool stuff, Prof.," Drafe stated, expressing his love for the new non-destructive weaponry that he usually wasn't fond of.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Longman stated, pulling up what looked like a green box with a hinge on one side and a trigger on the bottom. "The new, improved SADAR. This is a direct derivative of our research into controlling class one xenomorphs. Once the 'rocket' hits it emits a chemical gas that affects the predator's reasoning abilities. It causes the beast to hallucinate that humans are predators and predators are humans. We've designed special communicators for your helmets," Longman stated, holding up a small black box with a speaker built into it, "that uses specially recorded statements to communicate with the predators. The communicators have limited translation ability, so don't get into a long discussion with any of them." Drafe gave Longman a look that seemed to say, "as if we would."

"Make sure you're not too close when using the SADAR because it has the opposite effect on humans." Longman cautioned.

"Very nice." Katie picked up a pulse rifle and started to fiddle with the trigger. Unexpectedly, a burst fired from it and the four darts spread evenly between the professor and the general, knocking them out cold in a matter of seconds.

Katie instantly dropped the weapon back into the stack on the table as Naylor bent down to check the two suits. Both were sleeping peaceably, with no indications of shock or other damage.

"Nice one, Katie." Naylor murmured.

"The safety wasn't on," Katie pouted, looking forlornly over the two sleeping figures sprawled on the floor.

"He he, thanks Suzie." Silvio chuckled.

"_Uh_ boss?" Mager asked Naylor, his body language expressing both his disdain for officials and his hopes he wouldn't have to take care of the two sleeping beauties.

Naylor bent down and checked the two sleeper's pulse. "It's okay, they're still alive, but they'll be out for quite a while." Naylor motioned for Drafe to help him, and the two moved the sleeping general and the professor to the bunks in the room. "At least we know that the tranqs work now. We'd best let them get some kip. I've got a feeling we've got a very big day ahead of us."

"Okay Sarge," huffed Drafe, after dumping the two sleeping bodies onto the beds. As the group prepared to leave, each of the marines took their share of the equipment on the table. Silvio's eyes fell across the tranq-loaded pulse rifle that Katie had accidentally fired. With a smirk, he picked it up and pointed it at Katie. "Hey Katie, it's been a while since I saw your tits!"

"Cool it Silvio, you know I'm seeing Suzie now." At which point both Suzie and Katie turned to each other and snuggled with mock affection, "You know homosexual relationships are normal in this sort of situation." Seeing Silvio cringe, she turned to the others and stated, "You guys should try it sometime," as Suzie tried not to laugh.

"Uh I don't think so, but, uh, anyway, can we watch you?" Mager pleaded.

"I don't think so guys," Naylor stated, grasping each of his marines by the shoulder in turn and pointing them out of the room. "I want all this gear loaded into the dropship as soon as I leave," He added to Drafe, "Find us some quiet barracks. This may be the last good rest we get for a while, and I want everyone ready for action early tomorrow."

"Okay Sarge." The retinue half-heartedly replied, nearly in unison.

Naylor shut the door behind him, and followed his marines back to the conference room, which was now empty. As his marines filtered on past towards the dropship, Naylor stopped at the sight of the remote resting on the table. It looked like a black mole on the shiny table, so dull and out of place. He picked up the remote and flicked the button that lowered the screen from the roof. With another click, the video that he had watched earlier flickered to life on the screen. Sitting down, he watched it from beginning to end, and then began watching it over and over again. He watched inmate after inmate ripped apart as the scientists tried to perfect their Frankenstein's monsters under the watch of emotionless military officials. He watched with disdain the last clip, the one where the general had said they had perfected the process. He watched it all the way to the end. It wasn't perfected – not even close. The suits had managed to prolong the process, but with time, it still faded and the xenomorphs again became uncontrollable monsters, ripping screaming inmate's limb from limb, dripping with human blood, feeding on human brain.

It made him sick. He wanted to kill them all. Kill them now. Not just the aliens, but the sick scienctists behind the project - and the officers authorizing the tests. However, he knew he couldn't. Not while he had people depending on him. He had people that would need him for the mission ahead. As the tape played on, hour after hour, Naylor slowly drifted into a fitful sleep.

Naylor cursed as the alien swarmed around him; it felt like he had been fighting for hours. He looked at the ammo counter on his pulse rifle – empty. Damn! He had no ammo, not even a grenade. He had already torn off his armor after it was ruined from acid blood and as they crouched around him, ready to pounce, he brought his bare fists up for the final assault. He knew he was going to die, and he wasn't sure he was sweating from exertion or from the thought this was his last battle. As the aliens swarmed him, he railed against them with his fists, his soft flesh tearing against their steel-tough exoskeletons as he fought to batter them back. With sheer numbers they smothered over him, pushing him to the ground. He continued to scream in defiance at them, but was met only with the hisses of the alien's own language that drowned out his curses.

Though he thrashed and fought, he found the aliens were carrying him. After what seemed long minutes, the crowd of xenomorphs dropped him onto a resin-covered floor. Exhausted and bloody, he didn't have the strength to look up. Until he heard the clicking chatter of a different, yet familiar alien. Glancing up, he was shocked to find a predator standing only a few feet away from him, it's belt adorned with the trophy heads of his own friends. Friends he had failed to protect - friends he had run from to save his own flesh.

The predator stepped forward, grabbing his jaw and twisting his head from side to side. He closed his eyes, expecting the inevitable. But he instead heard the predator state in a clicking voice, "You're not worthy, coward." It pushed him back, into the black horde of aliens that had been waiting and hissing behind him.

He felt their inner jaws puncture his flesh and rip thought the muscle tissue and veins inside his body. The pain came in shots and waves, though he couldn't even writhe with all the mass piled on top of him. Then he felt the sting of a set of jaws ripping through his skull, piercing into his brain. The pain was excruciating, but for some reason he wasn't dead! He was still alive feeling the pain of several thousand jaws ripping through his body like it was melted butter. All he could do was lay there and think 'Why?' 'Why the pain? What have I done to deserve this?'

Six hundred hours Dengor Military Base, Hangar One

Back in hold of the dropship _Crimson One_ the marines were just waking up. Drafe was the first to become accustomed to the ship's dull lights. His tired eyes panned the room; everyone was accounted for - Stevenson, Mager, Suzie, Taki, and himself. But there was no Naylor!

"Hey, did Naylor come back in last night?" He asked, shaking each of the marines awake.

"No, not that I know," Katie was the first to reply as Drafe woke them. Drafe was concerned by the answer, but he tried to stay calm. Drafe had not been able to find other quarters in the base and had resorted to stuffing everyone into the APC for a short rest. Hopefully, the general had just wanted to have a few parting words Naylor, but he had not returned in the eight hours they had been out. It was a thought that made him a little more nervous. "I'm gonna get some coffee, maybe I'll find Naylor on my way. While I'm at it any of you want any?"

The universal answer, astonishingly, was "No."

Drafe shook his head and left the cargo hold through the side door. The dropship now lay in one of the four sealed base hangars adjacent to the main bunker. The dropship's crew had already prepped and refueled the massive UD-6C Tomahawk dropship. Leaving the protected hangars, Drafe's magnetic boots helped him through the biting wind to the main bunker, where, after several minutes of pounding the access plate, he was finally able to get in. Though a few military and scientific personnel were around, none had seen Naylor – or the general for that matter. On a hunch, Drafe made his way to the conference room. The two guards stood at the door, but once Drafe explained he was looking for Naylor, they let him pass. The steel door opened with a pneumatic snap, and Drafe stepped in, scanning for signs of the Sergeant. There, in the general's chair was Naylor. He seemed to be having a fit, for he was convulsing in the chair, his knuckles white from grasping the armrests.

"Oh shit!" Drafe shouted and he then raced to Naylor. He'd only seen Naylor like this once before when he'd been struck with night terrors after their first hive raid. Drafe stood there for a moment, wondered what to do, and then he started to shake Naylor vigorously.

"Naylor! **Naylor wake up!**"

There was no response, and Naylor's convulsions continued. The two guards outside heard Drafe's exclamation and started to enter the room. One used his helmet mike to call for a medical team. As the guards entered, Drafe's memory went back to that first occurance of the night terrors. He knew what he needed to do, and knew Naylor wouldn't be happy about it, but it was the only thing he could think of in the circumstances. He clenched his left hand into the tightest fist he could make and struck Naylor deftly on the cheek, sending the sergeant spinning off the chair and onto the floor. Both guards stopped dead, and one let out a low whistle.

The things in Naylor's nightmare vanished, and with a groan, Naylor awoke. The awful tortured pain he had endured in the dream had stopped, apart from a slight throbbing on his cheek. He slowly sat up and saw Drafe standing with his hand still curled in a fist, with several other base personnel coming up behind him. One looked like a medical technician.

As Naylor rubbed his jaw, he quickly realized what Drafe had done to wake him up. As Naylor stood, the medical technical came over and gave the sergeant a quick check. As the medtech worked, Naylor's gaze at Drafe suddenly turned into a hateful glare. After a few moments, he brushed away the medtech and strode towards Drafe. The others - mostly civilian personnel, but some military - started to back off. Only Drafe stood his ground, though he let his hand relax from holding the tight fist. As Naylor came up to Drafe, he stopped inches from the corporal's face. Naylor could see the beads of sweat forming on Drafe's forehead, and the corporal was obviously a little uneasy. But he kept himself rooted to the spot.

"You hit me!" Naylor growled, backed up a little bit to take a wider view of Drafe, and spat "**You fucking punched me!**"

"Yes sir." Drafe replied with a bit of squint from the volume of Naylor's voice. He swallowed and explained, "Sir, you were having a fit and were not responding to any external stimulation that I had." Drafe looked down at his hand and flexed the fingers slightly, then looked up, "The only thing left was my fist - and it seemed to do the trick." He paused, and then added, "Sir!" followed with a sloppy salute.

Naylor's glare turned into a wry grin.

"That's what I like." He said, and his soothing voice put Drafe at ease. Naylor moved toward Drafe, putting his left arm around Drafe's shoulders. "A soldier who isn't afraid to do what he thinks is right!" He wiped his chin, brushed off the medtech's advances to check him out further, and stated to Drafe, "Come on, let's go get ready."

The others breathed a sigh of relief and parted as Naylor led Drafe out of the conference room and towards the dropship. Once they were in the steel corridors out of everyone's sight, Naylor put his foot in front of Drafe and trip lifted him into the air. Drafe landed on his stomach and any air in his lungs was quickly expelled. Naylor then twisted Drafe's left arm and bent the elbow backwards, almost to the breaking point. Drafe literally screamed.

"_Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh_!"

To which Naylor replied, "Thanks Drafe, but let me give you a bit of advice to abide by. Never - and I mean **never** Punch me! **Got it?**"

"Yes, _Aaahhh_!"

"Now get your ass to the dropship, marine." He shoved Drafe away from him, and the marine rose. Drafe gave a quick salute, and then disappeared down the corridor in a hurry. "And make sure the APC is loaded before I get there!" Once the marine was out of his sight, Naylor rubbed his jaw. He hated doing that, but damn, Drafe's punch had hurt. At least Drafe hadn't punched him with his replacement steel fist. But, he couldn't allow his subordinates go about thinking they could punch him without some sort of consequences, even if their reasoning was sound.


	2. Chapter 2

Two Eight hundred hours  
APC Running Man in the dropship Crimson One

In the hold of the dropship, six marines were strapped into position within the APC. Naylor had slid the command seat into the area with the others, putting him at the head of the row. At the opposite end of the APC was a large screen edged with static. On its surface was the glowering face of General McGarrett. On a screen beside the general was a tactical map, in greens and reds, provided the only other light inside the APC. The whole ship rocked as it sped out of the moon base's atmosphere.

"Enjoy your nap, general?" Silvio quietly asked, which brought snickers from the marines. The general's face scowled, looking more and more like an angry pit bull each moment.

"Silence!" The general finally barked and the marines quickly hushed "Now, I'm sure that you don't want to screw things up on this mission, so I strongly suggest you pay attention. In seven hours you will arrive at the moon we have designated P-133," the tactical map lit up briefly as it displayed the flight trajectory from the base to the moon. A green arrow-shaped cursor, representing the dropship slowly began to traverse the curved path from moon to moon. "The pilots have the coordinates for your drop site. Just before you hit the atmosphere, the dropship will launch a probe to recon your objective area and relay it back to us. Once we've analyzed the area, your team will be inserted to disperse the predators and tranquilize one for the return jourey. Once you bag a predator, give the signal for the dropship to pick you back up." The general glared, "Make sure you have a live predator before you make the call, however."

As the ship heaved in the bounce from atmosphere to space, the general continued. "The APC is stocked with all the capture gear that professor Longman showed you, plus extra smart guns, pulse rifles with the appropriate tranquilizer ammo. There's also regular pulse rounds and grenades just in case of any extra trouble you have. You also have a plentiful supply of food, drink and medical equipment. Any questions?"

"Umm, yeah," Silvio stated dryly.

"What is it, Silvio?" Naylor prompted.

"Will I have time to go to sleep - as well as actually go through sleep, or will Stevenson have to shoot me too?"

A wave of laughter encircled the room. It seemed to echo through the general's skull, and it was obvious he couldn't take much more of the stupid wise cracks.

"**Shut up!**" He almost exploded with anger and the belly of the APC once again fell into silence. He composed himself and continued. "P-133 was once stationed by our forces - that was until the predators came and killed them all." Either the general failed to notice Naylor's glower, or ignored it as he continued. "So there is an atmosphere processor as well as a nice safe house for you. You will arrive at a drop pad at the processor's defense outpost, about fifty kilometers away from any predator activity. Once you are there, I will contact you again with the latest information we have, and you can then begin your assault at any time. Is that clear?"

At Naylor's unspoken prompt, they all piped, "Yes sir!"

"Good, I'd like to be very proud of you on your return." The general stated, and then added sarcastically, "for once." His final comment before his image faded into blackness was, "dismissed."

Naylor released the harness and wandered up and down the line of marines with his usual speech. It consisted mostly of slogging off higher powers and death threats if they didn't do their jobs; it went double for Silvio. Once he had finished, standing at the foot of the doorway that lead to the driver's seat, he leaned against the archway and asked, "Okay, who's the lucky person who's driving us into pred-land?"

Mager blinked. "Excuse me, sir, aren't you? I thought you would be in here monitoring…"

"I intend to be in the thick of this hunt. No screw-ups." Naylor retaliated. He looked over the marines a moment, then stated, "Okay, no volunteers, huh?" He then spun to Suzie. "Suzie, you're up. You have drive and monitor duty."

"Yes sir!" she replied.

"Okay then, get in there and move on out."

With no delay Suzie unbuckled her harness and took the driver/command chair. With a metallic swish, the chair slid into place at the driver's position.

As Naylor marched up and down the aisle, checking everyone's harness and pack, Silvio leaned towards Katie. "Hey, Katie." Silvio whispered.

"What assface? And why are you whispering?" She asked back.

"Could you put me to sleep with one of those darts like you did the general? I don't want to waste time…"

He was still talking when Katie pulled the dart out of her vest pocket that she had shot the general with. Before Silvio could flinch, she pricked the back of his palm with the dart.

"Getting t.o s..l...e...e..."

Silvio's face fell into his lap before he finished his sentence. Mager, Stevenson and Drafe all smiled at her as she palmed the dart. Naylor made one last check, noted the sleeping Silvio, and shook his head. Katie shrugged as innocently as she could, trying to hold her laughter in as the others snickered behind Naylor's back.

With nothing to do but wait inside the APC, the marines drifted to sleep as they made the journey to the predator's moon. The two drop-pilots plotted the course in the computer and then switched to autopilot.

Seventeen hundred hours Drop ship Crimson One nearing P-133 - Cockpit

The first alarms went off in the dropship cockpit, alerting the pilots of their approach to the reddish moon ahead. After a few switches were thrown, the alerts silenced themselves and the lead pilot flicked on the comm to the APC.

"Look alive back there, we're just about to enter P-133's atmosphere, brace yourselves. Over!"

It was the static that woke Suzie from her peaceful slumber. If the dropship pilot had spoken any smoother, she wouldn't have heard him. Once she was fully awake though, she turned on the internal speaker and announced their situation to the rest of the marines.

"Wake up people, we're just about to reach the pred moon, make sure you're in tight."

Naylor was the first to wake up and click on to the situation. He looked about and noticed that Silvio was floating freely in the APC's hold. He clenched his teeth. Katie or Drafe must have let him loose as a joke.

"2 minutes to entrance people! Over!" The dropship captain announced over the APC's intercom.

"**Hell!**" Naylor exclaimed, shaking his other marines awake. "Mager! Help me get Silvio back into his harness. We've got two minutes. Hurry!"

"Yessir!" Mager replied, somewhat groggily.

They both unclipped their harnesses and swam through zero-g to Silvio. Naylor grabbed the floating marine by his belt as Mager clasped onto Silvio's feet. A light rumble echoed through the ship as the first indications of gravity started to pull at the dropship. With his teeth firmly gritted, Naylor braced himself against the wall of the APC and pushed Silvio's body down into his seat with Mager's help. As Naylor held Silvio, Mager quickly strapped the marine in. As soon as Mager was finished, the marine swung himself to his own chair and started to strap himself in. Naylor gave Silvio's harness several tugs to ensure it was tight. As he finished, Naylor felt a familiar tug in his stomach. The pull of gravity was imminent.

"30 seconds," came the call from the cockpit. Naylor used the last bit of zero-g to hurl himself to his seat. He had barely pulled himself into his seat when he felt the dropship swerve to prepare hitting the atmosphere. A solid tug from approaching gravity pulled him down into his chair and he rapidly started tethering himself in. He had barely finished when he felt the dropship make its last turn to enter the atmosphere. A moment later, the ship hit the atmosphere with a thump, and then began to rock as if caught in a tidal wave. Metal screeched loudly as the ship forced its way into the planet's atmosphere, even making Silvio slightly stir in his unconscious state.

Gravity fell away again as the dropship dived towards the planet's surface. Quickly, the temperature in the APC began to rise, until it felt to Naylor that he was breathing in fire itself. Sweat pooled on the marine's faces and Naylor began to wonder if they were going to burn up in reentry. Luckily, after a few tense moments, the temperature began to diminish as the dropship's angle of decent softened into flight.

The ride became slightly easier. Naylor unclipped himself and switched on the monitor linked to the drop-ship's external camera. He gazed at the barren monster planet that he would be calling home until the mission was complete. It was almost completely red apart from some brown patches. The dropship sped past a huge atmospheric processor coated in red sand. He then spotted the abandoned ruins of the military defense outpost where they would soon be landing. As the ship neared, he could see that there were no natural windows and the pathetic green paint job was peeling and chipping. _What was the military thinking painting the building that nauseous green on this red planet? _He thought to himself.

The ship swung through the air for several more minutes, passing twice over the outpost before the marines felt the dropship connect with the ground below. A moment later, Suzie's comm came back to life.

"We've landed and I'm reopening the barn door. We'll meet you inside. Over." The dropship pilot announced over the soft static.

"Okay, Roger that. Over and out." Replied Suzie.

The ramp dropped and Suzie stomped on the accelerator. The sluggish APC lurched forward, sliding out of the belly of the APC like some sickly birthed child. Suzie lurched the wheel hard as the APC slid across the planet's surface, avoiding the scattering of debris around the site, as each marine held tightly onto his harness inside. Suzie handled the APC expertly, quietly reliving her teen-age years that she used to drive on the sandy beaches of her home planet of Caltheon.

When the APC lurched to a halt, the marines pulled the harnesses free and grabbed a pulse rifle each, apart from Silvio, who was still unconscious. The rest of the squad waited for Suzie to unstrap herself from the driver's seat, as Naylor occupied himself trying to slap Silvio awake. When he received no response from Silvio, he gave a withering glare to his companions. Suzie, Stevenson, and Mager left as Naylor and Drafe unclipped Silvio and carried the unconscious marine towards the main bunker.

Suzie and Katie covered Mager as he carefully stepped in. Broken tassels of computer wiring dangled in the doorway, and steel plates lay rusted and dented all across the floor, ripped from their wall anchoring. It was difficult for Mager to not make any noise, and Suzie accidentally crumpled one sheet, causing the trio to freeze in place until they were sure all was quiet. They carefully entered the broken base and had a quick look around. Once it was determined the entry point was safe, Naylor and Drafe dropped Silvio and left him in a heap on the floor near the entrance. The marines walked around looking at the run-down, barren place that they would be staying in for the night.

"Hey, I found the power!" Mager shouted, and he raised the main power switch. After a shower of sparks cascaded down from broken light fixtures above, most of the lights and terminals in the place blinked into life. Stevenson made her way to the radio station amidst the base's control panels and entered Dengor base's frequency.

"Dengor base, this is Alpha package. This is to confirm that the package has been delivered. Repeat, Alpha package is delivered. Awaiting details and return payment. Over."

There was quiet on the radio for a few moments, and then a crackling voice came back. "Roger Alpha package, Junior is in transit. Over and out."

The two drop-pilots came in and shut the door behind them.

"Everything secure?" the copilot asked.

Naylor looked to his marines, who nodded assent. "Looks fine for now." He stated.

"What now?" the captain asked.

"You guys might as well get some rest." Naylor chimed. "We've got a fun-filled day planned at pred land shortly." As the pilots nodded, Naylor added. "Hope you're up for it." He thumbed back to the rest of his marines, "We're gonna psyche ourselves up with a good game of strip poker - after we recon the base."

"Oookay," the lead pilot stated in a bemused voice. As the two turned to return to the dropship, the captain caught sight of Silvio leaned up against the wall. Between his floating freely in the APC and Naylor's attempts to wake him, Silvio looked rather bruised. "Holy shit! What happened to this guy?"

"Oh, he'll be okay." Laughed Naylor. "He's a tough lad, like all good marines. He'll be up and ready for the mission, don't worry. You two get some shuteye. We're off to play. Let us know when you hear something."

While the two pilots pulled in a pair of cots to rest in, the other marines surveyed the base, and then reported to Naylor. With the initial work finished, Naylor led them to a secure, abandoned room with a dented metal table, rusty chairs and masses of cobwebs in the corners. They left the cobwebs where they were and sat around the table, beating the major dents out of it. Naylor took a pack of cards from his top pocket and started to deal.

"Okay, it's a five card draw. The juices are wild. Place your bets. I'm in, one boot."

Zero Eight Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

The head dropship pilot, Wilkins, opened his eyes and gazed up at the ceiling - or at least what was left of it. He had forgotten that he was in the run-down hellhole and thought that he was still in the paradise that he was dreaming about. He was wondering if he ever would get to go on that vacation he had been promised. Somehow, he knew better. The government never kept promises.

He sat up and looked at the empty makeshift bed beside him. Where was his co-pilot Grant? He swiveled round on his buttocks and spotted him at a terminal over the other side of the room. He stood up, dressed, and made his way over there, making sure that he stepped over the still unconscious body of Silvio.

"Hey man, how long have you been up?" Wilkins asked.

"Couple of hours." Grant replied, continuing to tap on the keyboard. "I was bored and decided to check out these control buttons." He motioned to the panel of multi-colored buttons with smeared labels beside him.

"Yeah? So what do they do then?" Wilkins asked.

The co-pilot pointed to the top row of buttons, there were only two rows remaining, each one consisting of three buttons and a large space was taken up for a very primitive looking radar scanner.

"This row activates what there is of the security systems," Grant replied.

The comment interested Wilkins. "Such as?"

"Exterior turrets - but they're out of ammo," Grant sighed. "Alarms - but the wires are severed, and laser barriers." He glanced up at the pilot. "We don't have enough power to use them, though. Just enough to keep the lights on."

"Great. So that row is pretty much useless then, eh?" Wilkens observed, running his hand through his stringy black hair.

"Well...Yeah. Pretty much." Grant conceded.

"What about the second row?" Wilkins asked, pointing to the row with one flashing button.

"Coffee machine - I have no idea where it is," Grant commented about the flashing button. He pointed to the second, "Security camera - the lens is cracked. You can still make some objects out, though. The last one activates the radar - and it works!"

"That's a lot better. Anything happening then?" Wilkins asked, leaning forward.

"No. It's pretty much dead out there," Grant stated dismissively.

"Oh. So all-in-all this terminal is useless then, eh?" Wilkins frowned.

"Well, no. All we have to do is find the coffee machine," Grant countered.

Wilkins rolled his eyes and he sighed. When they came back down, a completely naked Naylor wandered into the room followed by a similar stark naked Mager. Before Wilkins could speak, Katie wandered in, her arms tucked across her naked shoulders. At the sight of her, the lead pilot's hand slipped off the console and he nearly fell to the floor. A similarly naked Susie followed Katie. The white-haired beauty nonchalantly followed the other three, seemingly oblivious that the head dropship pilot was staring at her, his mouth agape. She seemed to be looking for something to cover herself as the copilot reached over and gently snapped the pilot's mouth shut.

"Damn Drafe and his luck!" Naylor hissed.

"Cool down Naylor, it's only a game," Suzie remarked.

"Yeah, Q's right." Katie chirped. "Save your energy for the mission ahead - not trying to get back at Drafe."

"Yeah. You have to take the ups with the downs," sighed Suzie. She glanced at Naylor, then down. "And an up certainly seems to be the word for you at the moment Naylor!" She giggled

Naylor quickly glanced down at his speedily rising tackle and tried to cover himself. Rather immaturely, he retaliated. "At least I've got one, right Mager?"

Mager looked hollow for a second before cracking into a smirk and laughing at Naylor. Naylor had told the marine what he had said to the general back on Dengor, and the two chuckled at the inside joke. The two pilots stood there watching the naked spectacle until their attentions were diverted back to the door as a heavily clad Drafe walked in, dressed in all the other marine's clothes. Sweat pooled on Drafe's forehead, who was obviously overheating in the multi-layered plunder he had won. The head pilot couldn't stay quiet and eventually asked Naylor.

"Did you lot have a good game?" Wilkins queried.

"Oh, shut up!" Naylor ribbed, "You're here to fly. Not talk!"

"Sorry. By the looks of it we shouldn't be disappointed that we didn't play." The copilot stated flatly.

Drafe turned to them, gloating. "Ignore Naylor, guys. He's just sore about losing to the better man." He turned back to the other marines. "Say, you guys want your clothes back? I'm boiling under here!"

"Yes! And hurry up - my nipples are erect!" Suzie pouted.

"I, uh, noticed that, Q." Drafe sniggered as he started to remove his extra layers.

"And you didn't say anything?" Suzie stated in mock surprise.

"No! Of course not. I was having way too much fun!"

"Just give us our clothes back, pig." Katie hissed at him.

"Okay, okay. Keep your knickers on," Drafe smiled. Mockingly, he added, "Oh, sorry you can't!"

The two pilots broke into fits of laughter before being silenced by the naked Katie's cold stare. Once Drafe had off his extra layers his gaze happened to fall across the still-sleeping Silvio. He turned back to Naylor, who jerked his pants from Drafe's grasp.

"Hey. Shouldn't we wake sleeping beauty now?" Drafe asked.

"Yeah. Go ahead. It's about time he knew we were here." Naylor replied, still slipping his trousers on.

"Y'know, he's going to hate having missed last night's game," Mager stated.

Drafe strolled over to Silvio and squatted beside him. He turned to make sure that everyone was at least half dressed and then began slapping Silvio on the cheek. Silvio rolled round for a few moments grumbling to himself, and then he finally got himself to his back and opened his eyes. He gurgled for a few seconds and then finished his last sentence.

"...p."

He rolled his head slightly to his right and looked at the fuzzy face that reminded him of a muppet, which was arched over him, and listened to the mumbling coming from it.

"_Hm mmm. Hmmm m mckk mo meh mmmd ff ee mming_."

Silvio thought for a second and then decided that it wasn't worth trying to work out what the face said so he just asked.

"What?"

It came slow at first, but he soon caught up with the words. "Hey man. Welcome back to the land of the living."

Silvio blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on the face hovering above him. "Drafe?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah man. Good morning. How do you feel?" Drafe replied with a smile.

"Okay, but my head is killing me! I don't normally get jet-lag," Silvio replied, rubbing his temples.

Naylor and the others turned and exchanged smirks before they turned their attentions back to Silvio's questions. He rolled his head to the right and left then sat up.

"Where are we?" Silvio finally asked.

"We're in the old military installation on the Pred moon." Naylor announced, just having finished putting on his shirt. He glanced over to Suzie, who was adjusting her breasts. "We should be getting mission details soon, so hurry up and get yourself awake."

"Oh, hi Naylor." Silvio rubbed the back of his head for a short while just to see if it would cure his headache. It didn't. "Anyone got something to wake me up?"

Grant was the first to speak up. "I managed to turn on a coffee machine. But wherever it is in this place I don't know."

"Great, thanks!" Silvio growled. "I'm asleep for hours, I wake up on a moon that I don't know and the first thing I gotta do is find the Holy Grail coffee machine. This sucks!" Silvio then got to his feet and started staggering his way around the ruins looking for the long lost coffee machine.

"Does anyone want to remind him that there's stuff in the APC?" Katie asked.

"No way Katie!" Drafe interjected. "Anyway I didn't notice any coffee in there when I went to get the snacks for the poker game last night."

"Oh. Did you see anything else that might do the same thing?" Katie asked sardonically, knowing the dropship had been stocked with injectable stimulants.

"Nah. Only some coffee flavored chocolates." Drafe replied.

"Just let him find the damn machine." Naylor stated.

"Okay boss," Drafe sighed.

Suddenly the radio by the co-pilot crackled to life. "Dengor base to Alpha package, over?"

Katie took the radio and spoke back into it. There was tense moment of silence, and then the unwelcome voice of the general crackled over the comm.

"Good morning, marines," came the dour voice of General McGarrett.

"Morning general." They managed to mutter without much enthusiasm.

"You all sound a little unenthusiastic!" General McGarrett's crackling voice stated sardonically.

"Sorry general, I'm finding my surroundings make it a little hard to be positively motivated." Naylor replied.

"Very funny Naylor. Now, for the orders." The general began.

"Hang on a minute, sir." Naylor interrupted calmly. Then, over his shoulder, he shouted "**Silvio!**"

"What?" Came the slightly confused reply from the bowels of the base, echoed by the same sentiment from the General's crackling voice.

"**Mission details get here now!**" Naylor shouted

"Hang on almost done!" Silvio called out from deeper in the base.

"**Hurry up!**" Naylor roared.

The loud clump of boots grew louder and Silvio rounded the corner with a cup of grayish muck that he referred to as coffee. He sat there drinking the disgusting mess throughout the briefing.

"Can I continue?" The general sarcastic requested.

"Go ahead." Naylor replied unenthusiastically while at the same time cutting Silvio in half with his gaze.

Silvio only shrugged, wondering what he had done wrong.

"Thank you. Anyway, a search probe we launched earlier has reported that one hundred kilometers in a northwesterly direction from you is your objective, in the main military base. We made out the half-buried outline of a Predator ship near it, and as we suspected a hunting party of predator warriors using the moon for a base. Your job is to infiltrate it and retrieve one alive. We only need one, so make sure you use that equipment we gave you. Is that simple enough for you?"

Quietly, Suzie asked Naylor, "I thought he said fifty klicks earlier."

"Military Intelligence," Drafe replied with a shrug.

Naylor did his best to ignore the conversation, and replied to the general, "Pretty much."

"Good. Any questions?" The general's static-ridden voice asked.

"Yes sir." Mager said aloud. Naylor's head drooped. _Here it comes…_

"Why is it whenever I ask that question around you lot I always get a yes? It better be a serious question for a change. Go ahead, _errrrr_."

"Mager sir. And yes, it is a serious question."

"Well, what is it then?" the general asked.

"How many preds can we expect there, sir?"

"From the information sent by the probe we can tell there is no more than twenty," at that, Drafe's eyes went wide, and he met Naylor's concerned gaze. There was a pause, and for a moment it sounded like someone was whispering something to the general. Then McGarrett stated, "they could be spread across the planet, looking for suitable hunting spots," there was more static - or was it whispering - Naylor wasn't sure. The general added, "or they may be hunting as a group." He paused, seeming to contemplate the statement, and added, "Or it could be a lone predator. We do know that there are some there," he paused, and then stated, "When you get there have a head count and kill the ones you don't need."

Katie turned and walked away from the radio as she muttered to herself. "Fat load of help that was."

"I think I would've been better off not knowing," Silvio stated, sipping his coffee.

"Remember marines," the general stated, "We want a predator alive and as unhurt as is possible. Kill the rest. Over and out!"

The radio then clicked off and the room fell silent. As usual, it was Naylor who broke the silence.

"Okay, you heard the bastard. Suit up!" Naylor spat.

"Hey, can I finish my coffee first?" Silvio asked, pointing to the half-finished cup of gray liquid.

Naylor looked down at Silvio and smacked the coffee out of his hand. Silvio looked down at the fizzing puddle made by it and started to sulk. Unperturbed, Naylor walked to the APC, ignoring Silvio's sour face. Silvio stood and thought aloud to himself.

"I'll take that as a no then." He rose, and followed the sergeant back to the APC along with the others. The two pilots followed, unrolling a map of the site they were heading to, freshly printed from the recon the probes had sent to the dropship. As they neared the dropship, they held it against the ship's hull and debated their approach. They were still discussing the approach when Naylor and the rest of the marines came back clad in heavy armor. The two pilots looked up and noticed that Naylor looked more than a little grumpy and decided to ask Mager.

"Does it fit okay?" the captain asked sardonically.

"Just feel lucky you guys don't have to wear this stuff." Drafe replied "It's more than a little uncomfortable, but – it's better than dying."

"Okay," The captain replied, seeming satisfied with the answer. "Anyway, all of you gather round. We've drawn up a flight plan for getting you guys in." Once the marines gathered at the side of the dropship, looking at the printed map, the captain pointed to a red circle the two had marked on the map. "From what we saw of the probe's maps, this is the only safe approach to the predator lair. Most of the way is rough desert dunes, hardened by the planet's torrential rainfall. The APC should be able to handle it, as well as use it for cover to approach unnoticed."

"Pilots? Drawing attack plans? Are you sure?" Drafe muttered, looking to Naylor.

"Yes, Corporal Drafe," the captain interjected. "We may be pilots but we did take a few tactic classes back academy-side." He turned back to the map, stopped, and then turned to face Naylor. "Before I start, we haven't been properly introduced. I know who all you are, and I am Captain Wilkins. This is my second in command for this mission, Flight Officer Grant."

"Hello," Grant spoke, sounding just more than a little withdrawn. He did not seem to be happy with Wilkins's introduction, but said nothing else.

"What exactly are we looking at here?" Katie asked, tapping the pilot's map.

Naylor tilted his head left and right and had difficulty sorting out the details. It was a sloppy map that looked more Rorschach test.

"This, Sergeant, is an aerial map of the surrounding area of the base we are going to attack," Wilkins stated proudly.

"We?" Naylor asked as his brow rose a notch.

Captain Wilkins bobbed in acquiescence, "Okay you are. Just listen."

The area fell into a silence and Wilkins continued "This mark over here in the bottom corner is where we'll be flying in from. We will land here," He pointed to a distant mark he had made a quarter of the way into the map "about two kilometers away from the base, without lights to avoid drawing too much attention."

"What then?" Naylor asked with a grunt.

"Take the APC through these canyons to here. It's a longer route, but you won't be seen by anyone at the base. The probe's scan confirms there's a weak wall here – weak enough to drive an APC through with minimal damage." He pointed to a section of the western wall of the base, which was visibly cracked. Wilkins continued, "There you can start a full blown attack. This part's up to you - but let me give you some advice."

Naylor reflexively rolled his eyes and he sighed. "What?" He asked, sounding more than a little annoyed.

"Well, my understanding is that predators fight for stature, not for each other. So they work better on their own than in groups. Keep them tightly bunched together and they'll be almost useless. Their weapons are potent, but you might have the advantage if you can get them into a crossfire position where they risk shooting each other."

Naylor squinted at the pilot, holding the other man's gaze for several seconds. "Where did you hear that?" he asked.

"We've done several jungle insertions in the past," Wilkins stated, pointing to himself, then to Grant, who grunted. "Predator hunts. You hear a lot of tactics being talked on missions like that."

"Oh, really?" Naylor asked, with mock surprise. "Do any jungle extractions?"

Wilkins sighed slightly. "Yes."

"Were they alive?" Naylor asked.

"Mostly…no," Wilkins admitted.

"I'll keep your advice in mind," Naylor stated. Naylor then rubbed the new stubble growing on his face, and then sighed. "You're right, though." He finally admitted. "They do fight for stature."

Wilkins beamed at the admission. "Shall we get moving then, sergeant?" Wilkins said rather cockily.

"Okay. Get the dropship started. I want to talk to my men then we'll be along."

Wilkins nodded, "Fine. Come on, Grant."

Both pilots left. Naylor organized the others into a straight line and strode up and down the line, checking their gear and talking at the same time. "Okay guys. I want no heroics. You do as I order when I order. I will be carrying the snare and Drafe will have the disrupter. We'll both pack the tranq guns. I want you guys…," he paused, noting a bit of hurt creeping into Katie's face, "and girls - to be packing the real stuff. If you need help or have a pred down call for us and we'll break off from what we're doing to try and help you. Okay?"

"Yes sir."

He smiled. They were a good team. But he warned them. "And don't get killed."

"Okay let's go." Drafe shouted, clapping his hands together loudly.

They all hustled into the APC in single file, pounding up the ramp and into the APC. Once inside, each marine strapped themselves in place, with Naylor checking everyone's harness before Suzie took the helm. No sooner than Naylor had slammed the door to the APC shut and took his seat that Suzie brought the engine to life with a roar. Slamming the gas, Suzie brought the APC about and backwards up the steel ramp into the drop-ship. With practiced precision, she brought the APC to a dead halt in the belly of the dropship. In the cockpit, Wilkins motioned to Grant when the APC was in place. Steel clamps rose from the base of the drop-ship's hold and locked the APC in place. With another flick of a switch, Grant brought the drop-ship's ramp up as Wilkins grasped the controls of the drop-ship. The heavy ship easily slid up and away from the ground and within moments the whale-shaped ship was hurling across the planet's surface at break-neck speed only a dozen meters from the surface. For the first 30 kilometers the atmosphere inside the APC was incredibly quiet and uncomfortable, then once Naylor finally finished thinking out his battle plan he spoke.

"I'm gonna fire the SADAR out the door."

Uneasy expressions spread across the marine's faces as they first looked quizzically at each other, then at Naylor.

Naylor continued, "After I've done that we shut the door to make sure the fumes don't get in and put our masks on."

Mager caught on first, and he quickly nodded his understanding. It took Katie a moment more to understand, and as she glanced at Drafe the latter marine suddenly understood. Silvio, however, continued to look puzzled.

"Oh!" was Suzie's response from the cockpit as she caught onto the plan.

"Then we re-open the door. Mager, Katie you two guard the doorway and pick off the ones who don't seem to be affected. Mager, you take the smart gun and Katie you take the pulse rifle. Make sure you evade any incoming fire."

"Okay sir." They both replied in unison, half-smiling at the last comment.

"Why are you going to fire the SADAR in the dropship?" Silvio finally asked. "You still ticked about what the pilot said?"

Everyone glared at Silvio, who just shrugged his shoulders, then sat back to listen. Naylor continued, "Just kill as many Predators as possible, and let me and Drafe make sure that one survives."

"And Taki, I want you to stay in here and man the turret on the top. Drafe and I will be trying to bag a Pred while Suzie will take up a position over the other side of the room and wait for us to get back."

Silvio's face visibly dropped at the command. He was about to balk, but seeing the serious expression on Naylor's face, he merely replied half-heartedly, "Yes sir."

In the cockpit Wilkins and Grant were discussing the coming marine's mission.

"Do you think they'll do it?" Wilkins asked, turning his head to gauge Grant's reaction.

"Damn Wilkins! Keep your eyes on the terrain!" Grant warned. Wilkins quickly adjusted and managed to get his bearings before they hit a rather large dune.

"Sorry. Anyway. Do you?" Wilkins asked, no longer turning to check his co-pilot's expression.

"They might," Grant stated cautiously. "I've peeked at their record. They're a tough bunch." The co-pilot paused, and guardingly stated to Wilkins, "You know the orders though. If they don't succeed then we're supposed to follow up and bag one ourselves..."

"Geez Grant. What do they think we are?" Wilkins shivered, daring to glance over at Grant. "Last time I used a gun was when I had to qualify with my 9mm. If they can't do it, we need to just get out of here ASAP and try to think of some excuse."

Grant shook his head. "We've got orders."

"Fuck orders," Wilkins spat. "I'm not into suicide." Wilkins was now concentrating on his flying that he didn't notice Grant's grimace.

Wilkins continued to fly the ship, staring at the terrain. It was unlike anything he'd seen before. Many of the dunes were larger than hills and in some places, they weren't even dunes - just large columns of sand, like great pillars. He could not help but think that something was wrong about the planet but he could not quite place what. He continued to pilot the ungainly dropship in silence and tried to concentrate. Only ten kilometers to go - not long till the mayhem would start.

The dropship flew as close as it could to the terrain as it undulated. The ship wasn't particularly maneuverable, and every once in a while it would graze the top of a tall sand dune, causing a jolt to ripple through the whole ship as it tore the soft sand at the peak away. It was a long, uninteresting trip offering very little intellectual stimulation apart from the odd alien insect flying into their window. Strangely, it never failed to raise a smile from Grant's mouth.


	3. Chapter 3

Three Zero Nine hundred hours Moon P-133, 2 km from Abandoned Military Base Alpha

Sand blew everywhere as the dropship's landing jets helped the ship touch down. Apart from the howling of the wind, the only sounds around were the ship itself and the buzz of the alien insects fleeing from the massive ship. The ship landed, the ramp lowered and the APC slowly rolled out onto the ground.

"Good luck marines. We want you back in one piece." Wilkins spoke into his comm. Grant, who had been fiddling with some controls, turned slightly and glared out at the departing APC before slipping out of the cockpit unnoticed.

"Will do, Wilkins. Just keep that ship ready for take off as soon as we're back." Naylor spoke back through the APC's comm.

The APC sprang from the belly of the dropship, sliding down the ramp before it jolted from the impact with the sandy planet's terrain. Suzie reversed slowly to bring the APC's front in line with the distant abandoned military base before letting rip with an unbelievable burnout and finally sped off towards its mission. It bounced over several large bumps in the land as it closed in on its target. The terrain was horrible, and the marines inside the APC bounced about like rag dolls, held only in place by their safety harnesses.

The building eventually came into view. It was an odd, tent-like structure, partly camouflaged against the terrain. Suzie was amazed. Though the team had fought predators before, they had never done so on the predator's own turf. It was a new and bizarre experience to be hunting predators on their own ground. Then, just a little too late Suzie noticed a very large sand ramp just in front of the abandoned military base. She knew it was too late to stop so she just sped up.

"Make sure you're all buckled up back there!" She shouted.

A slight panic echoed through the back of the APC as Naylor yelled for an update and the other marines moaned in panic. Then, the APC hit the ramp. The vehicle flew into the air and towards the building. Everything seemed to slow down as the APC slowly arced up and twisted at the building. From the outside, it looked like the APC was about to belly-flop the predator's structure. Inside, Suzie realized the front was not going back down in time, and tried to prepare for the coming crash. The APC smashed into the tough hide of the building and went straight through. The momentum forced the APC into a series of cartwheels before it landed on its front, bounced, rolled and collapsed onto its roof.

Everything went quiet very quickly inside the APC. Though everything had been strapped down or secured, with the first impact a host of objects had freed themselves and now collected on the roof. The impact had shaken everyone into unconsciousness. After an unknown length of time, Katie was the first to wake, and she looked round to notice that something wasn't quite right with her surroundings. It was the blood rush to her head that finally tipped her off what was happening. She held her harness tightly and unclipped it, then let her body slide down out of the harness. On the way down she flipped over before letting go of her harness and landed on her feet. The blood slowly drained out of her head and back into her feet, making her whole body tingle. She stepped over all the weapons and broken instruments littering the floor as she made her way to the front to see if Suzie was okay. Suzie was awake, still strapped in, and a bit in shock.

"Katie?" Suzie moaned.

"Yep. You okay?" Katie asked, quickly checking Suzie for any signs of a concussion.

"I would be if you got off of your head!" Suzie mumbled.

"I'm not. You're upside-down!" Katie half-smiled.

"Oh!" Suzie stated, pausing. She reached out her hands, "Help me down then!"

Katie held Suzie as she unclipped her harness and slowly eased her to the ground. Suzie knelt on the floor and paused for a second.

"Everyone else all right?" Suzie asked, looking out the windshield of the APC.

"They're unconscious." Katie replied, looking back into the APC's hold. She looked around. The inside was a mess.

Just as Katie said that, there was a rather large bang followed by a shout of "Ow!" And then a "God damn it!" From the back of the APC.

"What was that Katie?" Suzie asked, looking back towards the hold.

Katie leaned back and looked through the doorway to the back of the APC's hold and saw Drafe shaking his head, propped up on the floor.

"_Oh,_ just Drafe doing something before he thinks again."

Katie then extended her hand to help Suzie up. Without question the latter grabbed the proffered hand and the two stood up.

"Come on," Suzie gestured "Let's go get the others up."

Katie nodded and followed Suzie out to the back. Suzie went straight to Mager's aid while Katie went to Naylor.

"Mager!" Katie stated, getting the upside-down stunned marine's attention.

"Wha-what? _Oh_ Suzie! What happened?" Mager asked, blinking.

"A little accident involving a large bump, an APC and a wall." Suzie piped up. As Mager's face contorted into a question, she added, "Trust me you don't want to know! Just wake yourself up and go get Taki."

"Okay."

Mager unclipped from his harness and lowered himself to the inverted APC's roof. The motion left him a little groggy and he felt something trickle down the side of his face. He put his hand there and looked at it. 'Blood!' He realized. He shakily put his hand back and worked its way up the side of his face and found that the bottom half of his ear was missing. 'DAMN! Must've been sliced by something falling as we landed.' He tried to shake himself out of it, grabbed a bandage out of the medical kit that had spilled on the floor and went to Taki while Suzie waltzed past to get Drafe. Meanwhile, Katie went to wake Naylor.

Naylor felt something cold on his face and his eyes flicked open. It was Katie's hand. Noticing everyone else was upside-down, Naylor had a suspicion and looked around to confirm it. He then focused on Katie's upside down form.

"Hey, Stevenson." He said with a slight grin on his face, "be a doll and help me down."

Katie grunted, "Okay sir. But please don't call me doll."

"Noted," he nodded, bracing himself as Katie unhooked his tangled harness.

Katie lodged herself under Naylor's shoulders while he unclipped his harness. She looked around the room and noticed that Suzie had Drafe awake but Mager was struggling a bit with Taki. Once Naylor's harness was unclipped he rolled off of Katie's back and landed feet first onto the floor.

"Okay." He said while dusting himself off. "You go help Q while I go help Mager with Silvio."

Katie quickly saluted, "Okay sir."

Suzie didn't need much help - she had Drafe down but he was still groggy. Just as Suzie started to help Drafe stand off the APC's roof, Katie came over to the burly corporal. Suzie stepped back as Katie approached. The two exchanged knowing glances for a moment, and then Katie proceeded to slap Drafe.

"Katie!" Suzie half-laughed, half-cried out.

"Calm down Suzie, I need this as much as he does!"

The slapping continued for several seconds until Drafe finally realized what was happening and blocked Katie's slap.

"Thanks! I think!" He stated, rubbed his stinging face.

"No problem. I enjoyed it!" Katie smiled.

Meanwhile Naylor stood looking at the sleeping Silvio. "Problem Mager?"  
"Yeah! I can't get him to wake up."

"I know how to get him up," Naylor replied.

Mager stepped aside and left Naylor to it. Naylor snorted, drawing a lot of mucus back into his throat before hocking it up and spitting his huge green spit right on Taki's cheek. The gross mass looked more like jello on Taki's cheek than spit. Taki woke slowly at first, felt his cheek and brought his hand to eye level to see what it was. His eyes widened as he thought it was alien saliva. The shock only lasted a second though, as he then realized that he was able to move all parts of his body. He then looked 'down' and saw Naylor and Mager.

"Hey guys!" He said drunkenly.

Naylor turned to Mager and sounded rather annoyed as he said "Let's get him down!"

Mager nodded and they got to work. Eight minutes later they were all awake and grabbing gear.

"Everyone ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be, sir!" Drafe said, speaking for the group.

One thought ran through Naylor's mind as he reached for the door. Why hadn't the Predators attacked while they were getting ready? He cleared his head and pulled open the APC's door.

Previously, Ten Twenty-Seven Hours Moon P-133, Dropship Crimson One

In the dropship, Wilkins was sitting in his chair, relaxing. Suddenly, he noticed a light starting to blink on the control panel, just above the fuel gauge. As he watched, the fuel gauge was going down very rapidly. Wilkins quickly got out of his seat and slid down the gantry ladder to investigate.

Below the cockpit, Wilkins could hear Grant whistling. The stairs clanked noisily as he made his way down them into the gantry. At the bottom of the galley was a short hall with a small medlab on one side, and the fuel storage locker on the other. There, in the corner, facing the fuel canisters was Grant. Wilkins quickly made his way over to him and asked, "Hey what's wrong with the fuel?"

Grant stopped whistling and slowly stood up. He turned to Wilkins to find the captain glowering at him.

"Grant, I asked a question," Wilkins stated, glancing past the copilot to the open valves behind him. He grimaced as he saw the running flow meter indicating the fuel was being drained from the dropship.

"I'm just following orders," Grant replied. Wilkins pushed past the copilot, moving to close the open valves. However, Grant retaliated by grasping the captain by his flight suit. Wilkins eyes widened as Grant brought up his forearm into Wilkins's chest in a smashing blow that sent all of the air out of Wilkins lungs. The blow also sent Wilkins flying backward into the dropship's main hold, where he crashed into a pile of plastic and steel crates. Gasping for air, he fumbled amidst the crates as he felt a searing pain shoot up his left arm. He rocked forward into a squatting position and felt his arm. The left forearm had a compound fracture – he was sure of it. The pain was terrible, paralyzing him for precious seconds.

Grant took the pilot to have been knocked unconscious and slowly turned back to the ship's fuel valves, and Wilkins could now see that Grant had opened the main fuel valves, causing the ship to dump its fuel load into the sandy terrain outside.

"I have my orders," Grant stated again coolly.

It was then that Wilkins noticed that Grant's flight suit had ripped at the elbow, and a white, milky substance was leaking out. "What the fuck are you?" Wilkins gasped.

Grant turned to notice Wilkins's horrified features and then caught a glimpse of the 'bleeding' elbow. He sighed slightly, and announced, "I am an A class military android." He then looked directly at Wilkins, as all emotion drained from his face. "Don't attempt to interfere. I have my orders," he repeated.

"Fuck...your...orders," Wilkins retorted, fighting to stand back up.

Wilkins' body went rigid as Grant tore a pipe from the wall and charged at the captain. Wilkins managed to snap back and rolled out of the way just in time, sending Grant crashing into the pile of crates. Wilkins went back to his squatting position and took a very deep breath as he tried to pull himself together. His head was spinning; he did not know why Grant was trying to sabotage the mission. To make matters worse the pain in his arm was growing.

Grant's rose out of the crates and turned to Wilkins. Most of the false skin over his chest had been ripped away, revealing a combination of plastic muscle and organ tissue as well as purely mechanical parts.

"Do not attempt to interfere," Grant stated, noting Wilkins backing away from him, stumbling over the floor.

Wilkins backed against the wall and used it to slide up to his feet. His face clenched with fear and pain but he knew he had to fight it if he was going to survive. For a breath, he rested against the wall and looked across it. To his left, he noted a fire axe strapped to the wall. He started to slowly edge towards it, trying to give the impression he was avoiding Grant. But the android quickly realized Wilkins true intentions and started to charge, still swinging the metal pipe. He was closing in at an incredible rate forcing Wilkins to think faster.

At the last moment, Wilkins dove at Grant's feet. Grant was unable to stop, and the trip sent the android flying through the air and head first into the wall. Wilkins continued his roll until he was on his back. Looking up, he saw he was directly under the axe. Across from him, he could hear Grant shaking off his impact with the wall. Wilkins pushed himself next to the wall, and hauled himself up with his good hand. Supporting himself against the wall, and wincing from the pain in his arm, he struggled to release the straps that held the fire axe fast to the wall.

Grant stood and smacked his head on the side with his palm. His right optical receptor was damaged; he had underestimated his foe's tenacity. His image was flickering and every now and then would fuzz over with static. He turned and saw Wilkins had just drawn the axe off the wall and was adopting a one-armed stance. Grant in turn adopted a sumo-like position and gestured Wilkins to attack. Despite his pain, Wilkins was infuriated. He gathered all his strength and pushed from the wall, running at Grant. As Wilkins almost loomed atop him, Grant dropped to his back and batted Wilkins legs with the pipe.

Wilkins skidded and fell, landing on his back. In a second, he felt all the air, as well as his strength, exhaled in one burst from his lungs. Wilkins panted uncontrollably trying his hardest to regain his breath. He clenched his right fist and felt that axe was still there. He still had a chance! Grant stood and stepped over Wilkins' heavily panting body and laughed.

"Did you really think you had a chance?" it gargled.

A knowing grin wrinkled across Wilkins' face as he took a large breath and used all of his strength to raise the axe off the floor and planted it into Grant's upper chest. Grant stumbled back a second, then collapsed to one knee as he lost motive power due to a pierced primary generator. White, milky blood flowed into the wound and down the axe. As Grant's vision began to quickly dim, he stumbled back a step, freeing the axe from the flowing wound.

"Yes! **Yes I did!**" Wilkins shouted, pulling himself up with the last of his fading energy. As Grant stumbled back, his primary generator dying, Wilkins continued his attack. He planted the axe into Grant's back and dragged it up to the base of his neck. He then dutifully removed it and proceeded to hack off Grant's head at the base of the neck. The head fell off and bounced along the gantry floor as Grant's body slumped to the ground and made a last, garbled, unintelligible sound. Wilkins collapsed to his knees and tried to compose himself as best he could. It had all happened so fast and several questions flicked through his mind.

_Why was Grant draining fuel? Why had someone secretly slipped an android into the mission?_

Wilkins collapsed to his knees, and felt the pain in his arm drive all the way up his shoulder. He looked down and saw blood from several scrapes along his arm from where he had been hurled into the crates. "I better take care of this before I do anything else." He thought aloud.

He dragged himself to the medi-lab, and began fumbling around the room for the equipment he would need. First things were first though. Reaching behind the medicinal alcohol, he found the bottle of bourbon they kept as a 'painkiller' and took a huge swig from it.

"_Ahhhh_!" He sighed in pure ecstasy.

He then grabbed a wad of gauze, set the bottle of bourbon back down, and grabbed the medicinal alcohol. After a quick dip in alcohol, he applied the gauze over the wound. The sudden pain almost made him collapse, but he managed to fight his way across the room to the computerized surgical station. Carefully, he laid his arm on the blue glowing pad of the station, and turned the system on. The computer awoke and gave Wilkins a short greeting, asking how it could assist him. Biting his teeth through the pain, Wilkins quickly spat out, "I broke my fucking arm you dumb… schmuck. Fix it."

The computer was quick – within seconds it had x-rayed the wound, and administered a spray that sterilized the damaged area. After using its surgical arms to remove the gauze Wilkins had placed, it administered a pain-deadening shot and began to fix the wound as Wilkins did his best to hold still. Wilkins was not sure how long it took the computerized doctor to mend the broken bone and seal the wounds closed, but it seemed to take forever. When the robot had completed, Wilkins muttered his thanks and examined the hand. Once the nerve-deadener faded, Wilkins knew his hand would work as well as if had never been injured.

He sighed again and left the lab. He reentered the gantry and looked at the destruction he and Grant had caused. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flashing. Looking for the source, he saw it was Grant's head – or actually, the still barely functioning eye in Grant's head. Then a sudden thought hit him - he could patch it into the ship's computer and read Grant's memory for the mission details! He ran over, grabbed up the decapitated head and ran up to the cockpit.

Wilkins slumped into his chair and opened a compartment under the control panel. He then removed two leads and plugged them into the mass of wires extruding from Grant's severed neck and plugged the other end into the panel. He tapped in a few commands on the connected terminal, and the monitor blinked into life.

**Series C3 Direct Command Interface (DCI)**

1) Current Orders

2) Personality Software Interface

3) Debugger

0) Manufacturing details

Wilkins tapped 1 and started to read. He bypassed the first page as it matched the group's known assignment. As the second page loomed up, he then reached the interesting bit.

_**Special Orders Stage One:**_** Once the marines depart for target site, drain dropship fuel to prevent escape. Kill Captain Wilkins if he attempts to interfere.**

Wilkins looked at the fuel gauge. They had one-quarter fuel remaining, not enough to get off the planet, let alone back to Dengor. It might, however, just be enough to get them back to the building, though. While Grant hadn't completely fulfilled his mission, he sure had them screwed.

He then continued with the mission details. Wilkins' eyes widened to almost skin ripping point when he reached the final line of the details.

_**Special Orders Stage 2:**_ **Release the Hounds of War.**

Eleven Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Abandoned Military Base Alpha

The door of the APC slid open quickly and bounced against its frame. In one quick movement Naylor spun into the doorway, fired the SADAR and spun round to the other side, pulling the door closed as he went.

"Put your masks on!" He yelled. All at once they removed their helmets, slipped the bestial-looking things over their heads and then put their helmets back on.

"**Now**!" Naylor stated, his voice muffled by the breath mask. He kicked the door open and was the first to jump out, followed by the others. The marines instantly assumed a covering fire position behind the rubble from the broken wall, with Taki watching over the back of the APC.

A few moments passed, then "Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Naylor growled. The place was bare, except for the crashed APC and the rubble it had made in the room.

There was a large crack from outside that almost sounded like the thunder from a cannon. A bright flash illuminated the broken wall the APC had punched through, and a moment later, the howl of the wind from outside was accompanied by a strange tapping sound. The wind blew through the gaps in the walls, and dragged bloody red water with it as it went. It was starting to rain.

Warily, Naylor broke the group into teams of two. Naylor partnered up with Suzie, while Drafe and Mager were placed on another, and Katie and Silvio comprised the third. Naylor and Drafe checked their weapons – pulse rifles loaded with tranquilizers, while the others fanned out to search the structure.

"Damn, why didn't they issue us with motion trackers?' Flicked through Naylor's mind as he edged across the wall to the doorframe. He looked in and flicked his hand to motion Suzie in. Suzie crept in slowly while Naylor watched her back. Once she was in, he crept in backwards behind her. Just as he was fully beyond the doorway, his gun flew out of his hands and impaled itself to the wall on his right. Naylor staggered backwards and fell, rolling against Suzie's legs. She wobbled slightly from the impact, but managed to keep her footing.

"Suzie! Left corner!"

Suzie spun and let rip - **Buddaddadda** – gunfire riddled the wall but hit nothing. Suzie swallowed, her eyes scanning for the flicker that would indicate the presence of her foe. She was visibly nervous. The predators obviously knew where Suzie and Naylor were, but there was no indication of where the predators were. Naylor reached down to his belt and pulled up his back-up pistol, a 9mm slug gun with about twelve shots, and not enough stopping power to do more than annoy a predator.

Naylor squatted against the back wall and was soon joined by Suzie. The two watched for ripples in the light. Sweat began to trickle down his brow and the eye pieces on his gas mask were beginning to steam up. "This isn't going to be easy!" he muttered to her.

Drafe's shoulder light threw a shaft of illumination through the dust filled room. He had already pulled off his mask, and took a deep whiff of the musty air. As he turned, his light scanned over everything, revealing several crushed consoles and wrecked furniture. It looked like a struggle had taken place, and from the looks of it, it wasn't that long ago. As Drafe watched, suddenly the shaft of viewing light moved - it literally bent. The effect lasted but a moment and then snapped back to its original position. Drafe turned a full one-eighty and looked at Mager, who was staring at him. Apparently, Mager, his mask still on, hadn't seen it.

Then Mager's view flickered as if heat passed in front of his eyes, obscuring his view of Drafe. Mager re-focused on Drafe who was now warily circling. Mager couldn't see why, and then he suddenly understood. He crouched and set himself up a nice comfortable shooting position.

Drafe spun, trying to keep up with the ripple as it moved around him with alarming speed. He was getting dizzy, when a glint of light hit him in the eye. Something was reflecting his shoulder-light, and it was coming towards him. His body reacted before his brain did and he dodged to his left just as the glint missed his right ear. Drafe gasped deeply and watched as the glint disappeared.

Mager's eyebrow rose to his hairline and hung there like a monkey clinging on a high vine, "The ripple! Ahead!" It took one step towards Mager as three red dots appeared on Mager's forehead. Mager swallowed silently and steadied himself. He took one quick look at Drafe who was also ready to fire. The two nodded the signal and... **Buddaddaddda!**

***Squelch!*** Stevenson looked down at her foot, a bug! She had stepped on some form of alien roach! Great! She looked ahead to make sure the coast was clear and continued inside. Silvio gingerly followed her making sure that he avoided the puddle formerly known as a space roach. In so doing, Silvio lost his footing and crashed to the ground. He opened his eyes and stared into the face of a xenomorphic skull. He froze but a moment, then gingerly reached out and studied it, "What the hell is this doing here?" he muttered to himself, picking it and himself off the ground.

"Hey Katie!"

"What?" She spun and looked as Silvio performed his low budget impression of Hamlet with the xenomorphic head. Katie rolled her eyes. Silvio could never be serious even if it meant certain death for him! As she looked back at him, her eyes widened in apprehension.

"What's wrong?" Silvio asked. He noticed her glazed expression fixed on the skull, and he looked down to notice the three red dots hovering over it.

"**Shit**!" He shouted, as the skull shattered into a million fragments. He staggered sideways and crashed into the ground for a second time. He panted heavily for a few seconds, but stopped when he felt something dripping on his leg. He looked to notice his hand was missing! His right hand! His shooting hand! Was missing!

"Now...I'm, uh, ah, sure I, uh, had a hand there before!" He quipped, trying not to let himself be overcome by the shock. He could feel his armor already injecting drugs to deaden the pain, but the bleeding worried him the most. He stretched his foot out and hooked it under his rifle, flicking it up to his left hand. He looked to the stump of his right hand momentarily. It was still bleeding profusely. "This armor doesn't work as well as that scientist said," he complained.

Meanwhile, Katie had crouched down and edged over to the fumbling Silvio. She watched for signs of their enemy as Silvio ripped a piece of his suit from beneath his armor and began covering over the bleeding stump. Inside the armor, he could feel a band tightening around his lower arm. The armor was applying some sort of tourniquet to stop the bleeding. He stood, grasped the edge of Katie's sleeve and motioned for Katie to edge back out of the room.

Naylor and Suzie had finally identified the light ripples of their predator stalker, but fought to keep from losing track of their opponent. Naylor got the impression they were being ushered out of the room in different directions. He refused to be herded, and Naylor let rip with three bursts from his pistol. Two of the shots missed while one found its target and lodged itself into the unarmored neck of the predator. The invisible field around the body crackled and died as the body slumped forward to the ground, clutching its massive throat. From between the fingers oozed fluorescent green blood. Naylor looked at his gun for a moment. Maybe it wasn't so useless after all…

A hateful, clicking noise issued from another part of the room, and Suzie nervously crept backwards. Her foot skidded off of some of the loose debris around her causing her to stagger back several steps. She regained her balance and held her rifle ahead of her, still watching the ripples of light edge towards her. Her foot wobbled on top of a large rock and she fell backwards. She took a second to gain her bearings and opened her eyes. A ripple was hurtling towards her at an incredible pace, and as it neared, it solidified into a predator, a glinting wristblade held up for attack. She held her breath, leveled her rifle, and fired. Green blood spewed from the predator's form, but it still kept coming. She rolled to her right and narrowly avoided the onrushing predator. As she got to her feet, she emptied the rest of her ammo clip into the predator on the floor. It writhed in pain from the numerous bullets entering its body, and finally ceased moving as Suzie's gun clicked empty. Without a pause, she slipped out the empty clip and jammed a fresh one home. She stood and carried on out of the room as the ripples closed in.

The Predator uncloaked and arced its back as the rounds hit his body, his plasma bolt narrowly missing Mager's head, skimming the marine's helmet as it whizzed over him.

Mager gasped and ducked as the bolt flew inches from his head. He felt its heat singe his eyebrows off his forehead through the mask, and clean at least part of his five-o'clock shadow from his face even as the treated plastic of the mask melted. The two continued to fire into the predator until the beast fell over, still twitching. Mager stood, casting off the destroyed mask and walked over to the motionless predator. He was quickly joined by Drafe who immediately started poking it with his boot.

"Got it good!" Drafe said, nodding at the corpse.

Mager nodded in recognition of the compliment. He looked at Drafe and stated, "I thought you had tranqs in that gun."

Drafe laughed a little. "Naylor's running around with a tranq gun already." He let the empty ammo clip slip from his gun as he rammed another one home. "We only need one alive, remember?"

Mager nodded. Drafe had saved his life, but he knew killing all the predators wasn't going to complete their mission, they had to capture one. Still, if anyone on the team could capture a predator alive, it would be Naylor.

There was a sudden ticking sound from the ground that caught Mager and Drafe's attention. Drafe rolled the predator's body over and noticed three red dots dancing their way over the predator's forearm, down to the dead predator's forearm computer. Mager and Drafe had battled enough predators to know what was coming next, and both bolted for the door. The unseen predator across the room charged up his shoulder cannon and fired at the comp, causing a miniature explosion, but with enough power to send both Drafe and Mager flying out of the room.

All six of the marines met in the central room where the APC lay. Naylor ordered them into a defensive position back at the APC, as the advancing cloaked predators began to form a circle about them. Naylor had underestimated the teamwork qualities of the Predators and was cursing himself for it. Naylor counted six, but they kept passing by each other, making a precise count impossible. Naylor gave the order to ready weapons and for the marines to keep their heads down as he led them towards a cluster of shattered concrete torn from the APC's vault through the wall. Then, series of red, triangular patterned dots fanned out, but this time they were coming from all directions. Naylor's mind raced as the dots flashed over the rubble the group hid behind, blasting off chunks of rock. In desperation, he grabbed Suzie's pulse rifle, cocked the grenade launcher, and shouted "**Everybody down!**"

The marines did as they were told as Naylor aimed the rifle at the roof. Ripples of light suddenly dashed towards the hidden marines as a hideous battle-cry rang from the lungs of the predators. As the shimmering ripples of light closed in, Naylor depressed the trigger on the grenade launcher. A trail of white smoke sprang to the roof, and was followed by an ear-shattering explosion. Fragments and a cloud of dust sprayed from the roof, showering nearby into the pile of rubble where the marines hid.

Naylor was in luck! It was still raining! His mind clicked just as his ears were re-diverted to the sound of the plasmacasters "Shit! **Duck, idiot, duck!**" he yelled to himself as he stood there like a lemon. He crashed to the ground as the predators let loose with their bolts. One fizzed into the rock he had just hid behind, blowing off its top half and showering him with dust. At least one of the bolts flew across to the opposite predators. The scream Naylor heard told him that at least one of the creatures had died from the impact of the bad shot.

The cold, wet rain seeping down from the roof began to interfere with the predator's technology, as Naylor had hoped. Their cloaking fields were shorting out, revealing them one-by-one. The water seemed to likewise affect the plasmacasters, which Naylor heard less and less of.

He looked to the other marines, "Screw catching one alive," he mumbled to himself, then to the others, he stated, "We have approximately five meters of space around us! Use it as you will, just don't get killed."

They nodded their understanding, and Naylor tossed the pulse rifle back to Suzie, pulling his own pistol back out. Then he announced, "Okay! **Break!**"

The predators had cast aside their electronic weapons and instead readied their spearguns. Naylor had miscounted - with two dead, there were still eight in the room. As the marines rose from the rubble firing, several of the predators let loose with hasty shots. None of the spears struck their intended target, though the marines firing together were able to bag one of the enemy predators in the opening salvo. When the predator fell and twitched in its death throes, the marines shifted, using the superior cover to snipe at the predators.

Naylor sensed a chance at a lone predator and left cover to dive at the creature. He narrowly skidded under a spear from the creature's gun and flew between the predator's legs. From his prone position, he quickly popped two caps into the unarmored back of the predator's skull. Naylor was quick to grab hold of the falling body and drag it round as a shield.

Another predator, infuriated at the marine's audacity leapt into the rubble the other marines were hiding in, baring its fearsome wrist blades. It came up behind Katie, who twirled to face the creature. Before it could swing at her, she ducked and sprayed the rock it was standing on with pulse fire. The stone shattered, sending the predator to the ground. The impact stunned it, and gave Suzie and Taki enough time to get over the top of it and rip into its torso with an extended burst from each of their rifles. The pred roared with pain as Taki and Suzie's shots bored into it. It continued to howl with anger as it tried to drag itself away as the marines reloaded. It had pulled itself to one side, pulling off it's face mask and was reaching for it's wrist computer when Mager moved up, his gun aimed at the predator's skull.

"_Uh_, _uh_, uh! No sore losers!" He remarked, finishing it with a single burst from his rifle.

Meanwhile, Drafe was up to his neck in trouble as another predator drove him from the cover of the rocks, slicing away at the marine with wristblades extended.

"Drafe, duck!" Someone shouted from his right. He quickly glanced as he dodged yet another savage slice from his opponent. The voice belonged to Suzie. He saw her fingering the trigger on the rifle's grenade launcher, and didn't have to be told twice. He leapt backwards over a pile of rocks as the predators tried to cut him in half with its wristblades. A moment later, with Drafe in the clear, she launched the grenade at one of the distracted predators, taking out its entire torso and leaving the topless body to collapse to the ground.

Drafe rounded the pile of debris he had ducked behind to stare into the unfriendly sight of a spear gun. The predator holding the weapon seemed to smile through its mask as it gently eased the trigger. Drafe, unpreturbed, weaved aside and lurched at the gun. The spear missed Drafe, and as he could hear the weapon reloading itself, he wrestled with the huge beast for control of the weapon. If Drafe had been just a normal human, there would have been no chance for him to defeat the predator.

Some time ago, Drafe had lost his arm to a predator wristblade in one of his previous missions. It had been replaced with a bionic counterpart, several times stronger than the original. Thus, with much effort, Drafe managed to twist the speargun to face the creature's own head, just as the speargun had finished reloading. Before it could jerk back the weapon, Drafe smashed the creature in the knee. It let out a short howl, but it was cut off as Drafe squeezed the trigger on the speargun. It narrowly grazed the predator's malformed head, and it managed to push Drafe back.

Drafe rolled away from the momentarily stunned predator and grabbed his rifle. He fired a burst that caught the predator in the chest, only to watch the predator thunder towards him, ignoring the fluorescent, bleeding wounds. Drafe continued to fire, but his aim was off as his opponent hunched downward, continuing to charge forward. _Shit,_ he thought to himself, backing up and firing, _it's still coming!_

Drafe's gun began to click away as the predator was almost on top of him – it was empty. The bleeding predator finally stood before Drafe, and cocked its head slightly. Drafe could imagine that once again the ugly faced bastard was smiling under its helmet. With a casual motion, it flexed its wrist, and the ugly serrated blades emerged with a snake-like hiss. Just as the predator prepared to bend down to chop off Drafe's head, there was a distinct roll of gunfire. The predator straightened, half-turned, then fell. Drafe could clearly see the bullet holes in the back of the thing's head.

"Boss! I've never been so glad to see you!" Drafe smiled as Naylor helped him up.

"I bet you haven't!" Naylor smiled, as he reloaded.

Drafe and Naylor glanced around to assess the situation. The marines had managed to whittle the predator forces down to four, without suffering any of their own. Naylor then noticed that the rain had stopped. The predators seemed to notice as well, for Naylor saw the remaining four predators backing out of the fight. One of them managed to recloak, and Naylor barked his orders. "Let them go!"

The marines stopped short of chasing their fleeing foes, and Naylor ordered them to regroup at the APC.

"Well wasn't that fun?" Suzie sarcastically muttered as she made her way back to the APC.

"Yeah! I guess. I've had better, though!" Naylor stated, motioning for the marines to return to the APC.

"I bet you have Naylor!" Katie stated with one last look around before she entered the APC. Holding her pulse rifle at the ready, she pulled the APC door shut.

"Crimson One to Alpha package, hey you guys there?" The radio fuzzed into life. It was Wilkins's voice, and it sounded worried.

"Guys?" Wilkins repeated as Suzie ran into the cab of the APC to pick up the receiver.

"Yeah, we're here!" Suzie barked into the comm. "We didn't get a live predator though, and it looks like four got away. I guess we scared them off!"

"I don't really care about that right now! All I want you to do now is get out of there! This place stinks and something rotten is going on!"

Naylor had come into the cab to hear, and took the comm from Suzie. "This is Naylor. Just how bad are we talking here?"

"Shit, I don't know!" Wilkins shouted, "Looks like a government screw job – maybe military plot?"

"Is McGarrett behind it?" Naylor asked, fairly sure he knew the answer.

"I don't know. Grant, my co-pilot, tried to kill me back here. Damn thing was an android and someone gave him orders to dump our fuel and kill me to strand us here."

"Shit! Someone's got our number!" Naylor mouthed to himself. He clicked back on the comm so Wilkins could hear him. "We trashed the APC so we're going to be on foot. Any chances you can come pick us up?"

"We've barely got enough fuel to get back to the processor base, you're gonna have to haul it on foot. Some sort of subroutine's been activated, and it depended on us being stuck here."

"Understood! Out!"

Naylor dropped the radio and wandered back out to meet the others. "Wilkins says we've got problems." Worried looks spread across the other marine's faces, and Naylor continued, "His copilot was an android and tried to dump the dropship's fuel. Worse still, he thinks something is about to go down and we're in the middle of it." Drafe threw up his hands in disgust, and most of the other marines voiced their discomfort with a situation. Naylor paused, and then hardened as he put back on his command hat. "We gotta grab what we can," he patted the side of the APC, "out of this thing and get the hell out of this place, quick!"

Naylor stood and gestured everyone in. The marines picked up as many of the spare weapons as they could carry and a few of the equipment crates stowed with spare rations and other equipment they were sure to need. In disgust, Naylor unloaded the pulse rifles and smart gun that had been equipped with darts and threw the darts in a corner. After assessing them, he turned to Suzie. "The loaders on these things have been modified so they can shoot the darts. Can you switch them back?"

Suzie looked at the weapons, and nodded. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Naylor smiled. "You got half that."

Suzie did as Naylor told him as the rest gathered the equipment in piles outside the door. Soon they all left heavily strapped up with supplies and weapons.

Eleven Thirty Hours Moon P-133, Dropship Crimson One

Wilkins lowered the ramp, ready for the arrival of the others and slumped back in his chair. The numbing drugs in his arm were starting to wear off, and it itched like hell. He had just gotten comfortable when a small red light flicked on and off on the control panel, shortly afterwards a line of text appeared on the main screen. Wilkins looked down at Grant's head and watched as its electronic muscles contorted into a vile smile. Without a second thought Wilkins grabbed it and shoved it straight into the waste-disposal. He looked back at the main screen, his eyes widened and his heart sank when he read the text on screen.

_Too late!_ It read.

Bewildered, Wilkins glanced over the console. _Had that damn android dumped the rest of the fuel?_ _No_, he sighed to himself, _the gauge hasn't moved_. Wilkins scanned the ships controls and gauges, then noticed something flicker across the readout console – too fast to read. Leaning over, he jabbed at the console's keyboard and rolled back the log.

It was some sort of encrypted message, and it looked like it had been beamed back to Dengor.

_Damn it,_ Wilkins thought to himself, _I should have known better. Whoever set us up will know they failed._

Wilkins grabbed the radio comm, and thumbed the mike. "Alpha package, this is Crimson One, over…" He waited a moment, but there was no response. He tried again twice, but no one answered. _Great,_ Wilkins thought to himself. He tried one last time.

"Alpha package, if you read, we've been ratted out…"


	4. Chapter 4

Four Eleven Thirty-Seven Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Topside Level 1

Professor Longman stepped into the room just as the general had lit up yet another cigar for the day. "General." The professor emotionlessly asked.

"What is it professor?" the general replied with a growl as he flicked his lighter shut. McGarrett knew something troublesome was up if this obsessive, haggard imbecile had left his lab for anything other than a bathroom break. As Longman adjusted his glasses, the general let out a long puff of smoke.

Longman tried to smile as the smoke drifted towards him, and instead let out a small cough. "Well, our monitoring of the radio transmission from P-133 suggests that the marines failed their mission to capture a live predator," As he saw the general lean forward and glower, he added, "We did learn several got away in the struggle, but it seems they are unwilling to make a second attempt at capturing them."

The general sat back and stared at the table before him. "Damn!" he stated, searching in his mind for what to do next.

"What should we do, sir?" Longman asked, desperately.

The general's eyes flicked up to look at Longman. "Activate the android," He leaned back. "He may be able to coax them into going back."

"I...," Longman swallowed uncomfortably. "Well," he stated sheepishly, "He's already been activated. He dumped the dropship's fuel, stranding the marines on the planet." Longman quietly regretted he'd let his assistant talk him into activating the android after the APC's crash. His assistant had misread the marine's life sign monitors, and had initially reported them dead. Now, even if the marines did succeed, they would have to send for a shuttle to retrieve the specimens. But that was a piece of information he could wait to tell the general about later. "They'll have to deal with the predators - one way or another."

The disgust he was trying to hold back was obvious, but McGarrett managed to ask, "Did the android succeed?"

"Yes sir!" Longman stated after a brief pause, even through he knew the android's success wasn't complete.

"Well," the general stated, leaning back and heaving a foot up on the desk. He pulled the cigar from his lips and let loose with another deep exhalation of smoke. "They're stranded then." He waved the professor off, concluding with "Well, if he won't cooperate, Naylor's men are no use any more. You might as well release your so-called Hungry Hounds! We can see if they can deal with the predators - and those marines."

"Understood." Longman whispered with a smile, then left.

The general swiveled round in his chair and clicked on a large monitor in front of him. The fuzzy picture was upside down, but Longman could see the marines exiting the predator's structure. "Not so fast my friends! Not so fast! It's not as if you'll be leaving anytime soon!"

Professor Longman stepped out of the General's room and onto the lift. The lift went even deeper than the marines had gone into the base, and stopped with a lurch at a level lower than that even indicated on the control panel. Once out of the iron elevator, Longman walked down unmarked concrete and steel corridors lit by bluish-green fluorescent globes and finally came to rest at a single metal door marked with a biohazard symbol. Longman placed his palm on the reader to the one side of the door, and after a green band of light had scanned his hand, the door slid open.

Beyond was a small room with large glass windows looking into a room beyond filled with a maze of machinery and electronics. The lights in the room were a reddish color, like blood. The machinery in the room beyond the glass led up to a single metal pedestal, atop which sat the decapitated head of a xenomorph, its eyeless skull glaring at the scientist. Longman stepped out of the elevator, and immediately clambered into a yellow sterilized suit and mask hanging from the wall in the antechamber. Once properly dressed, he swaggered up to the airlock in front of him, which hissed open. To Longman, it almost sounded like the welcoming voice of one of the xenomorphs. The door slid shut behind him once he was inside. Three probes then suddenly appeared from the walls, scanned him with blue light sensors, and then sprayed his suit with a sterilizing agent. Once done, they retracted into the wall, and the airlock hissed open, allowing Longman to step into the alien control room.

Only one man, Longman's assistant, stood inside the room. If both of the men had not been concealed in their bulky suits, they might have taken aback by their uncanny physical resemblance. The assistant was poised at a console monitoring control functions and modifying them appropriately. The assistant watched as a glass box rose to the top of the console and started to fill with a greenish gas. Longman was quick to join him at the console, double-checking his assistant's work, modifying it where he needed to do so. After a brief, but tedious period, the bottom of the glass box slid open and the alien head rose up into it. A microphone then rose up on the console. Once this was over a monitor lowered from the roof and flicked on with a display of four camera views in each corner of the screen.

Longman flipped open a plastic panel on the console and slammed his fist down on the bright red button on the inside. The overhead camera views from the orbiting probe showed the dunes around the abandoned military base on the nearby moon. As Longman watched, mud boiled away as previously concealed enclosures hidden nearby rose and opened. The enclosures looked like tall, odd columns of sand with cancerous, pulsating growths protruding from them. As the growths slid open, something within them stirred. Black, armored nightmares made of bone, claw and sinew slipped out, their sightless heads stretched forth to taste the air of the planet. The armor of the xenomorphs glinted with cold slime as they slid out into the gray light beyond their enclosures, and they immediately recognized the stench that seemed to be coming from outside their enclosure...Humans!

Longman bent down to the mike, licked his lips and barked out his orders. "Go!" he hissed. "Rid the planet of the human and so-called predator vermin! Kill them! Destroy them! **Go**! **Leave no survivors**!"

He leaned away from the mike and watched the monitors as the aliens left their enclosures hissing and spitting, clambering after the human scum that had desecrated their area, their patch!

"It will be only a matter of minutes before they catch up with the marines," the assistant stated, checking several readouts on the command console. The professor smiled, his eyes glazed over with wonder and pride at the aliens as they raced off after their human foe.

"Yes," the professor stated in ecstasy, "Yes, I know!"

Eleven Forty-Five Hours Planet P-133, Near Abandoned Military Base Alpha

All six of the marines marched along the now-muddy desert terrain, maneuvering up and down the undulating dunes, kicking muddy sand off their heels as they went. Their encounter with the predators had winded them, and seemed to be taking its toll most especially on the injured Silvio, who stumbled along near the end of the group. Naylor stopped at the head of the pack and waited as the others did the same. Silvio, somewhat in a daze, kept moving up, walking towards Naylor.

"Damn! Why did this have to happen now? I'm knackered!" Drafe panted as he bent over and spat into the sand.

"Pred encounters are never easy," Naylor breathed his reply.

"What do you think is gonna go down?" Katie huffed.

The ground started to rumble and then a loud hissing filled the air. Naylor stood upright and looked in the direction of the distant abandoned military building. The others joined his gaze as they all stared at the tower they were running from. Just barely, in the distance, Naylor caught a glimpse of something black in the distance. After a short while, the blackness started hurtling towards them at an alarming rate.

Naylor's eyes widened as he realized what the black mass was. His mouth filled with an order of terror. "Shit! **Ruuuunnn**!" He ordered.

"You don't have to tell me twice!" Silvio quipped, as he stumbled past Naylor. The rest all turned from the growing blackness and lunged into a sprint.

Drafe was the last to get moving, and he kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure the threat wasn't close, but every time he looked the black mass had gained on them. He looked one too many times and tripped at the summit of a dune, fell down, and started rolling back in the direction he had come, collecting muddy sand as he went. At the bottom, he stood and quickly gauged his distance. He couldn't see his comrades anywhere. He started clambering back up the dune, but he could hear the aliens' hisses distinctly behind him. Turning to face the approaching menace, he started trying to run backwards, but the quagmire of sand and mud was slowing him down too much.

One of the aliens lunged at him, and Drafe fired a burst straight at its torso. The alien ripped in half with an ear-piercing squeal. The top half continued to arc towards him, spraying acid blood as it crumpled into the quagmire of mud. The acid splashed across Drafe's armored legs and into his face. His spun away, howling in pain, and before he knew it another lunged at him.

Naylor, atop the next dune, looked over his shoulder as the second alien leapt onto Drafe's back and plunged its inner jaws into his throat. Drafe's head arched back and his mouth opened in a wordless scream. All that came forth was spittle of blood from the back of his throat. Drafe's badly burning legs started to stagger and he fell. As soon as his face touched the ground, two more xenomorphs pounced on him and all three of them began ripping his body to shreds. Shaken, and unable to move, Naylor could not turn away. Overcome with anger, Naylor unholstered one of the rifles he had taken from the APC, and started launching grenades at the alien menace that continued past where Drafe had fallen, all while he move backwards. He must have taken out six or seven of them, not even slowing or denting the horde, before he spun back round and continued on his run.

"There's the drop-ship! About one hundred meters. We're gonna make it!" Katie yelled from the top of the dune ahead. Naylor squinted and made out the figure of Wilkins standing at the ramp, urging them to hurry up, and with that sight, Naylor started to pick up his run.

"Come on guys!" Wilkins shouted from the ramp. He then ducked inside and ran up to the cockpit. His fingers raced over the controls as he switched the engine on. His work was greeted with the whir of the jets as the ship started up. He looked up at the monitor above him and flicked a switch on the controls. The monitor flared to life with an image of the ramp from the inside so he could see the marine's dramatic entrance. "God, I hope they make it!" he whispered. "God damn, I hope they make it!"

Mager and Suzie were managing to keep just behind Naylor, whereas Katie and Silvio were lagging behind considerably. Silvio's legs were beginning to ache badly, and Katie wouldn't leave him behind. "Barely thirty meters to go." She urged him as she saw him wince with pain. He knew he was going to make it, but the margin was going to be questionable. Every time he began to slow he heard the aliens behind him begin to hiss louder and was instantly reminded of Drafe's fate. This thought urged him on quicker and stronger every time. The thought repeated in his head as if it was torturing him with an image of what would happen to him if he didn't make it.

"Come on!" Katie shouted.

Silvio looked up and saw his savior barely fifteen meters away. They were going to make it! Naylor had made it; he pounded his way quickly up the ramp, followed closely by Mager and Katie. The black mass of aliens just crested the last dune to the dropship, and the aliens shouted their rage as the prey attempted to escape. In the cockpit, Wilkins began to panic as he saw the huge mass racing towards the ship. Reacting quickly, he started to take off.

The ship rose off the ground as Mager and Suzie made their way up the ramp. Silvio's eyes widened as he watched his only hope of escape begin to leave without him. He wasn't going to let it happen, not now – he was too close to be left behind. His mind exploded with anger and his run blurred into an amazing fury as he tore across the sand and leapt. Katie had made the run with him, and she leapt for the ramp as well. Both caught onto the edge as the black mass of aliens poured down the final dune towards the dropship. Wilkins, his eyes as wide as saucers, began moving the ship laterally away from the alien mass as he also tried to gain altitude. Already the low fuel alarms were beginning to sound, but Wilkins silenced them.

Katie pulled herself up onto the ramp, as Silvio fought to hold on with his good hand. Once she was up on the deck, she started to haul Silvio up, and quickly found herself being helped by Mager and Naylor. With Mager and Naylor helping Silvio, Katie stepped back up the ramp to catch her breath. Meanwhile, Suzie held onto the support strut of the dropship and launched a grenade into the approaching black mass. With a loud pop, several aliens exploded into fragments, but the horde simply poured over the bodies of the dead.

They had Silvio half way up, when three aliens leapt up from below. One managed to grasp hold of Silvio's legs, while another grasped Suzie, pulling her over the edge. The third grasp the bottom of the ramp and struggled to start climbing up towards the others. As Suzie was flung down, she managed to grab onto the edge of the ramp, with the alien wrapped about her back. The pulse rifle fell from Suzie's hand and struck the third alien in the face, causing it to lose its grip on the ramp. It fell out of sight into the black mass gathering beneath the dropship.

"**Help!**" Suzie cried as the alien on her back began to part its vicious jaws.

"Katie! Toss me my rifle!" Mager shouted, letting go of Silvio. Luckily, Naylor still had a grip on Silvio, but he slipped an inch or so with the loss of Mager's help. Without hesitation, Katie grabbed the rifle off the upper part of the ramp and threw it to Mager. The ship veered suddenly to the side, causing Mager to fumble the rifle and almost lose it over the edge. He dived at it and caught the strap as it went over.

"Phew!" he gasped, barely holding the rifle's strap. No sooner had he said that when a black-enameled claw reached up from its hold on Suzie's body and grabbed at Mager's hand. Mager looked down and saw the alien's gaping maw open and reveal its inner jaws.

"Not today ugly!" Mager yelled, and shoved the barrel into the alien's mouth. Before the vile creature could react, Mager fired. The single burst tore straight through the alien's skull, sending acid and alien brain spewing to the ground below. A second later, the alien's dead grasp relaxed, and it fell away. Mager smugly watched it practically explode when it impacted with the ground below.

"Thanks," Suzie sighed in relief as she watched the alien's fall. Moments later, with Mager's help, she hauled herself up onto the ramp and took her acid-sizzling armored backplate off.

In the meantime, Naylor, still holding Silvio one-handed, had drawn his pistol back out as Katie had come down the ramp to help hold Silvio. Focusing on the alien as it tried to clamber up Silvio's back, Naylor lined up his shot. **PakaPaka** went the pistol, and seconds later the alien was falling to join its former friend.

"Mager, grab Suzie!" Naylor shouted as he and Katie hauled Silvio up onto the ramp and dragged him up to the gantry.

"Katie! Get me some medi-gear! Silvio's badly injured here!" Naylor stated as he looked at Silvio's bloody stump. Silvio was writhing in pain, and that was when Naylor noticed the sizzling sound of acid and saw Silvio's pants smoking. Katie ran off to the medi-room to grab what ever she could to help Naylor relieve Silvio's pain.

"Mager come on!" Suzie pleaded. Mager's arms flexed as he heard the command come from below him, he reached down and grabbed Suzie's arms. He squatted and heaved as hard as he could. Suzie's body came up easily as Mager fell back and Suzie landed on top of him. She skidded over his lying body and her breasts brushed over his face. She quickly lifted herself off him and swept the sweat from her brow. She looked down at Mager who was quivering and panting. "Thanks!" She gasped.

Mager looked up at her, panting as well, and nodded in acknowledgement. They both lifted themselves up and made their way up the ramp.

Naylor hauled Silvio up the ramp, where he was met by Katie and the medi-gear he had requested. Katie took the quickly fading marine off of Naylor's hands, and after taking the smoking pants off the wounded marine, led a smiling, weary Silvio back to the medical lab as she started to examine his wounds. "Is this what I got to do for you to get in my pants?" Naylor heard the marine state unsteadily as he was led inside.

The gantry clanked noisily as Naylor made his way to and up the stairs to the cockpit. The door whirred open and Naylor's burly form walked in.

"Hey." Naylor stated emotionlessly as he clambered into the co-pilot's chair.

Wilkins eyes stayed fixed on the terrain as he tried to fly the ship without the aid of a co-pilot. "Hey."

Naylor looked over Wilkins's controls. "Just how did you know that, that was about to happen?"

"I didn't know _that was _about to happen," Wilkins replied, looking down to make some flight adjustments. "I just knew that it wasn't going to be good!"

"So...who's behind this? And what do they want?"

Wilkins glanced at Naylor, and then turned back to flying. "I don't know. My best guess is they wanted you to bag one predator and they were going to send someone else to retrieve it. Once you did your job, you were – expendable." He looked back to Naylor, "But like I said, it's just a guess."

"I see," Naylor noticed the dropship was still flying rather low. "Why aren't we heading back to Dengor then?"

"Grant managed to drain most of the fuel! We only have enough to get back to our nightspot." He looked at Naylor and smiled. "I thought staying here and finding fuel would be a better bet than floating powerlessly through space waiting to freeze to death."

"You have a point," Naylor conceded. "So we're gonna be stuck on this hell hole until we figure out a way off it?"

"Yes, either that or we starve to death." He looked away from his flying. "How is everyone? Did they all make it?" At that question, Naylor's head dropped and hung remorsefully.

"Not too good. We lost Drafe and Silvio was badly injured," Naylor finally replied.

Wilkins was quiet for a few moments as the words sank in. "That sucks." He said quietly.

"**No, sucks doesn't cut it!" **Naylor bellowed, smashing his fist into the top of the control panel.** "It's worse than that! I've lost not only a loyal Marine, but my best friend!**" Naylor's face turned a bright red during his fury.

"I'm sorry," Wilkins apologized. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Naylor waved him off. "Close the ramp will you? I'm going back down."

"Okay." Wilkins stated tepidly. He flicked the control for the ramp, as Naylor got up and made his way out of the cockpit. The door slammed shut behind him, and Wilkins had a sudden fear and sorrow for whoever had put them in this predicament. They were going to be sorry…

Wilkins head was spinning, he had just offended one of his new colleagues, but that wasn't the thought that plagued him. How was it that the aliens were being controlled from such an incredible distance away? A satellite wasn't a possibility – they hadn't detected one during reentry and the reconnaissance probe supposedly had been sent back to Dengor base. There must have been something lower, closer to them, so that the signal didn't have far to travel and as a result could bounce off one to get to another. But what? There must have been something at ground level. But where?

Twelve Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

Longman hung his head as he watched his precious pets fail him. He knew the general was not going to be happy with the news, but he had to carry on making sure that they definitely could not leave the planet. He bent back down to the mike and re-ordered his pets. "Back to the building!" he shouted, "The vehicle inside there has something inside, which is their only chance of getting away. Turn the building and the vehicle into your hive, and then guard the vehicle as you would a queen!" Then he hissed to himself, "Trust me, they will be back!"

The aliens acknowledged their command and began the trek back to the building. The three that tore Drafe apart rose from their victim, having just gorged themselves on his flesh and brain matter. Then, Drafe's bionic arm started to move and tore itself from Drafe's mangled body. The aliens ignored it, until one of the aliens sensed a new command and picked up the arm. The arm became the alien's prime objective, its reason for living and yet the alien did not know why.

He just had to protect it!

Twelve Fifteen Hours Moon P-133, Aboard Dropship Crimson One

The steel tips of Naylor's thick leather boots clanked noisily on the stairs as he made his way down from the cockpit to the gantry. Naylor slumped against the wall nearest him and slid down to the floor in a stupor. His mind began to replay the last few hours in his mind. He had now lost four marines in combat situations, but Drafe was the highest ranking marine that he had ever lost. Worst of all, Drafe had been his life-long friend. He couldn't help but blame Drafe's death on himself.

Naylor contemplated his successful and colorful past. His father had put him in a military academy at the ripe old age of ten. He had gone to officer's school when most others were going to high school, and became a full-fledged marine officer at seventeen. During all that time, Drafe had been with him as his roommate in the academy, and a classmate at the officer's school. Naylor had graduated as lieutenant first class, with Drafe directly under him as a junior grade.

The two were assigned to the same company, and it was where they both had shined. Their first assignment was a hive raid, and Naylor had pulled it off without losing a man – a spectacle no one had yet been able to reproduce. Part of it was because Naylor was always there – in the middle of the firefight, despite his rank. His willingness to face the same dangers his troops did had endured him to the marines he was assigned to.

Everything had gone smooth until the brush-in with colonel Norden. The colonel didn't like Naylor's methods or attitude towards authority. Even the memory of the incidents that followed still made Naylor's blood boil, and his fists squeeze tight with anger. He and Drafe had been isolated from the soldiers at the colonel's commands. The colonel's bumbling orders got three of his marines killed, and the damned suit didn't care one whit other than about the status of his objective.

Naylor had popped him for that – downright decked the colonel and broke his jaw. He had avoided court-martial, but it had gotten him busted to sergeant. Drafe had tried to cover for his friend, but in the end was demoted to corporal for his efforts. All the images of his successful youth flashed in front of his eyes like a slide show and abruptly cut off with pictures of his bleak future. The marine corps. just did not seem the same. He opened his eyes and watched the sweat drip past his eyes. He raised his filthy hand and wiped the sweat away, at the expense of leaving a filthy red line smudged across his forehead. Then he concentrated on what was going on ahead of him.

Silvio's head rocked from side to side as he tried to focus on the funny colored objects that flew into and out of his vision. Somewhere in the back of his mind it told him he was hallucinating, but he was too caught up in the swirling colors to care.

Suzie removed a sterile agent from her incomplete medi-kit and smoothed it over her hands; she then massaged it over Silvio's badly burnt legs. Katie hurriedly followed this as she went round with the bandages. Once Suzie was done she stood and walked over to the medi-room.

Mager knelt to Silvio's left arm and examined the crude bandage over the stump. It was still dripping with blood, though a good portion of it had dried on the bloody rag. "Ugh... Suzie! Hurry up with that tank will you?"

Suzie came running in with the medi-tank and quickly snapped it over Silvio's stump after removing the crude bandage. Sensing the damaged appendage within it, the tank filled with a green liquid as two probes extended from the tank wall and quickly went to work. "There. He should be as good as new in a couple of days. If he's lucky, when we get back to Dengor they can grow him a new hand."

Mager nodded, then stood and made his way over to Naylor, who slouched in the corner by the stairs.

"Naylor?" Mager bent forward and waited for a response...Nothing. "**Naylor?!**"

Naylor's face quickly swung so that Mager's formless features were in his view, and fixed a hateful stare at Mager's face "WHAT?" His eyes glared as if they were trying to burn holes in Mager's plain features.

"Whoa!" Mager jumped back at Naylor's attempt to bite his head off. "Sorry! I didn't know you were deep in thought."

"I just lost a marine," Naylor stated, his hate still burning. He turned back to look at Mager, and stood. "Worse than that, I've lost a good friend whom I've known since I started in the marines." His head drooped, and he looked away. "My life in the corps will never be the same again."

Katie leaned forward with a slight consolidating look on her face "Naylor?" Naylor turned to Katie's calming face, though the hatred and self-loathing were still evident on his face. "There was nothing we could do! Nothing _you_ could do!" When Naylor tried to look away, she held his shoulder and wouldn't let her eyes veer from him. "It wasn't your fault, or any of ours. It was those bastards that sent us here, it's their fault!" She could see Naylor's anger turn, and she continued, "And you're right! It won't be the same again, but we have to get through it! We owe it to Drafe to get off this planet and give those bastards what for!"

Naylor's head dropped into his shoulders and he took a deep breath. What Katie said made sense to him, and his voice lowered dramatically in tone as he replied.

"You're right. Save the anger for the suits. Our first objective," he stated, looking around to the others, "is to get out of here – alive."

Katie smiled back at him and ruffled his hair. "Good!"

Silvio started to move a bit more, the others turned and watched as he smacked his head with the palm of his good hand, sat up and looked at his legs. He then held up the tank that was strapped to the stump of his arm. 'Damn! Just ain't my day!' he groaned, and then looked around at his surroundings. "Hey," he said groggily, "Since when did we start wearing pink uniforms?"

Naylor frowned and shook his head. No matter how desperate the situation, Silvio never seemed to let up.

"I'll take care of this!" Suzie stated, holding Naylor back. She wandered over to Silvio and squatted beside him. Silvio eased his head back to attempt to focus on her as she raised her index finger into Silvio's view and asked. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Silvio furrowed his eyebrows as if to concentrate. Suddenly, as he realized what she was doing, he answered. "Hey, Hey, **hey**! There's no need to be rude!"

"Looks likes he's coming to! Mager! Give me a hand in getting him to sit up!"

Mager stepped over and grabbed Silvio's right arm as Suzie got his left, and they proceeded to sit him up on the medical bed.

"So. What are we talking about?" Silvio asked, his head still slightly swimming. His eyes skittered across the room until he saw Naylor leaning against the corner, hatred filling his eyes. The sight seemed to sober Silvio up a bit more.

"What is our next move?" Katie replied, looking to Naylor.

Silvio's face contorted into confusion as he spoke up with what he wanted to do. "WHAT? That's easy! We get off this hell-hole, go back to Dengor and give those bastards there what for!"

"We can't!" Naylor fumed, turning about and striking the steel plate of the gantry. As he finished his turn, all the marine's eyes were on him.

"Why?" Mager asked, as his face also went into a state of confusion closely followed by the others.

"We've been sabotaged," Naylor explained. "The co-pilot drained our fuel. We don't have enough to get off the planet."

"What?" Suzie barked in disbelief. She put one hand to her forehead, and began to pace around.

"Then where are we going?" Mager asked.

"Back to our hotel. We all need some rest, and I need some time to think of a plan to get off this rock!"

"So we're stuck here?" Silvio's voice sarcastically rang out.

"'fraid so, either until we find fuel and get off, till we starve, or until the aliens come all this way after us and kill us off for good." Naylor retaliated. He noted Silvio quietly closed his gaping mouth, and said no more.

"How much food and water have we got?" Katie asked

"About four days worth, I imagine." Suzie replied.

Silvio's glare began to burn into the back of Naylor's head and finally he went too far with the sarcasm. "Looks like it won't be long before we eat each other then!"

That was all that Naylor could stand from Silvio. He leapt at the groggy marine and grabbed him by the throat. The other marines yelled and tried to push Silvio free from Naylor, but with a single barked command, they all backed off.

Silvio huffed as he struggled to breathe, and Naylor lifted him off the medi-bed and slammed the back of his head into the metal stair in the one corner of the room "OW! Damn man!" Silvio managed to heave between being choked.

Naylor's face showed a variety of emotions as he shouted at Silvio, his face warped from one emotion to another as he ranted. "**It isn't my fault! We were buggered by the bastards who sent us here!" **Naylor's face loomed in close to Silvio's, close enough for the choking marine to feel his sergeant's fetid breath.** "Now we have to work out a way to get off this planet so we can get even with them! If you can't get that through your head and have something worthwhile to contribute to the conversation then I may as well throw you out to the aliens!" **He shook Silvio and added,** "How would you like that?**"

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! Jeez man!" Silvio apologized, avoiding Naylor's glare as he held up his hands defensively.

Naylor pushed the sorry marine back as he let go. Silvio put his remaining hand behind his head and rubbed, it felt moist, and he lifted his hand back into view and saw the familiar bright red color of blood. "Again? Damn this isn't my lucky day!" he mumbled.

Naylor slowly stepped away, his eyes still glaring at Silvio. When he turned to see the shocked expression on the other marine's faces, he knew he had gone too far. He had to calm down if he was going to get through this. But he knew if Silvio didn't change his ways real quick, he was afraid that he would be killing Silvio instead of the real enemy.


	5. Chapter 5

Five Sixteen Thirty Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

The red rain once again swept down outside on the soft sand, making the whole of it a wet, crimson muddy mess. The dropship had touched down over three hours ago on the outpost's concrete landing pad, though most of it was covered in at least four inches of the thickening sludge. Naylor had ordered Wilkins not to make an attempt to contact Dengor base, and they remained in the ship, running on the dropship's battery power until Wilkins worried they were close to draining the batteries as night began to fall on the moon.

The dropship's ramp lowered slowly and Naylor made his way down first, closely followed by Katie. Mager and Suzie followed, helping the wounded Silvio along. Once they were down, the dropship's lights and other controls began switching off, until the whole ship made no sound other than that of the rain beating against its hull. With the ship off, Wilkins make a quick check of the ship's exterior and sighed at the mud that covered the landing sleds, then made his way towards the sickly green nearby building.

Wilkins stepped into the building's interior and was greeted by a large, red puddle at his feet. Looking up to the roof, he suddenly remembered that most of it was missing from the main room. He had almost forgotten what a hell-hole this place was.

As the marines checked the interior for any signs of intrusion, Wilkins wandered over to the console that Grant had fiddled with earlier that day. He realized that the reason the buttons had been smeared was because it stood under an open section of the roof. Looking around, Wilkins found some sheet metal and created a lean-to to shrug the rain off the panel. After wiping the remaining red rain away, he switched on the radar. It gave a soft hum as it came to life, and the pulse of the radar started to throb like an electronic heartbeat. "This should give us a nice early warning just in case any of those things did follow us," he stated, adjusting the controls so they could monitor for approaching alien swarms.

Naylor, who had come up to Wilkins's side, nodded to the captain. He then turned and watched as Mager and Suzie kicked over a nearby damaged, still-dry console and sat Silvio on top of it.

"I guess we hole up for the night?" Wilkins asked.

"For the moment," Naylor stated lowly, gazing at the clear radar. "What's the range on this thing?"

"It's got several scan ranges, like the dropship," Wilkins replied. "I've got it set to cover about a kilometer around the base. At that range, we should be able to pick up groups of five or more moving about."

"And if we extend the range out – say fifty or a hundred kilometers?" Naylor asked.

"We lose fidelity," Wilkins sighed. "We could set it to monitor activity all the way back to the other base, but if those things split up into something smaller than the dropship with that sort of range, we probably wouldn't pick them up on the scope."

Naylor nodded. "One klick is fine for now, that should give us enough warning if they come poking around here," he said.

"What about the remaining predators?" Mager asked. "There was four, remember? That's smaller than your 'group of five'."

"That could be a problem," Naylor admitted, looking at Wilkins.

"Grant said there was a laser defense grid perimeter," Wilkins noted. "He said we didn't have enough power to operate it, but I don't know if was lying."

Naylor shook his head. "Wouldn't matter much anyways – predators would be able to see the lasers, and I doubt the fencing is over six meters high, so they could easily jump it or just take it out with their weapons," he added, "Wouldn't stop our black-hided friends either, though it might barbeque the first two ranks or so."

"Well, that's … disappointing," Wilkins replied.

Suzie gestured to the lights. "Something is powering this base, couldn't we convert it to power up the dropship instead?"

"It's probably a fusionable reactor," Mager replied.

"And the ship's not designed to run on battery power alone," Wilkins concluded, "We'd need a full machine shop to convert the ship for what would probably be a one way ride."

"The whole base has been picked clean," Katie reported, "There's a machine shop in the back, but not so much as a wrench."

"Well, I'm out of ideas," Silvio shrugged. Everyone just glared at him.

Naylor began to pace. "So. What do we do now?" Naylor panned the room and watched them all look back at him. They were obviously expecting him to have the answer. Silvio gave a grunt of derision, and then looked away from Naylor.

"Alright," Naylor stated, coming to a stop and resting one hand on his chin, "Katie, Mager - I want you two to locate the generator for this place, see if you can get it to give us enough juice to power up that defense perimeter - half a chance is better than none," he stated. "Suzie, take Silvio and start a patrol on the area," He tapped the console Wilkins had been dabbling with, "We know there's at least one security camera, see if you can find any others and get them back working."

"But boss," Silvio complained, holding up his wrapped bloody stump.

"No malingering," Naylor wagged his head negatively, "We can't let our guard down, and we don't have any idea if - or when - we'll have visitors."

"What about you and Wilkins?" Silvio pouted.

Naylor eyed Wilkins. "I've got a job for him," he stated.

"So, what are we looking for?" Wilkins asked as he walked along the line of battered and gutted computer panels. Naylor had brought Wilkins to a steel-lined, windowless room just off of the main room. Several banks of silent mainframes stood in the back of the room, while several rows of powered down and dismantled computer consoles stood in front of their larger counterparts.

"This outpost has to have some sort of communications relay to keep in touch with the main base," Naylor replied. "The scientists at the main base have been working on a method to control xenomorphs and I suspect they're somehow in control of the ones we ran across back at the main base."

"You mean those big black monsters weren't some sort of prey for the predators to hunt?" Wilkins asked.

"Not in those kind of numbers," Naylor responded, then stopped as realization set in. "You don't know what they are?" he half asked, half stated.

"Never seen, or heard of them before," Wilkins said. "Are they intelligent?"

"That's debatable," Naylor replied. "Cunning, definitely. Some Earth company learned about them a few years back, tried to obtain them as bioweapons to sell to the military. Things got out of hand. They've been an annoyance ever since, keep showing up on more and more planets near the Zeta Retuculi system."

"Well, why the hush-hush over them?" Wilkins questioned as he examined another dead console.

"They breed using humans as hosts," Naylor responded, motioning to an intact console he'd found.

Wilkins hustled over to Naylor. "What?"

"Well, they can use any living creature as a host," Naylor explained, motioning for Wilkins to take a seat. "At least, as big as a Rottweiler or bigger. They can take on the attributes of the host they merge with. These ones clearly had human hosts," Naylor stated with disdain.

"There must have been a hundred of them," Wilkins stated in dread awe as he took the seat. "Where did they come from?"

"I don't think the main base was abandoned," Naylor replied. "I think it was overrun."

"Oh shit," Wilkins realized.

"And I'm betting they ran the show from here."

"Oh shit," Wilkins breathed.

"So," Naylor stated, shifting the conversation, "is this what I think it is?"

"Yes," Wilkins stated, though he found he had trouble getting his mind off their previous thread of conversation, "it is a communications relay linked into the main base. But I show it's been powered down, like the mainframes. Likely, it's been stripped too. So, I don't think it's your link."

"It's got to be," Naylor stated. "We communicated with Dengor base this morning, so we know we're getting a signal to here. They have to have then routed it to the larger base."

"Naylor," Wilkins thought aloud, "If the base was overrun, why didn't they just nuke it?"

"I don't know, Wilkins," Naylor stated. "That worries me. It means they still think they're in control, and they're still experimenting."

Eighteen Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base, Sublevel 3

Longman had waited hours for the marines to return to the main military base on P-133. He was sure they would have had to double back. He then considered that they may have been more dense than he initially thought. He had mostly spent the time directing the xenomorphs to begin building a hive within the abandoned military building. He was exhilarated that with the predators driven away, he no longer needed to conceal the alien's activity.

"Sir," Longman's assistant called out to the professor. "We need to switch the control source, it's badly degraded."

"Very well," Longman sighed, leaning back. He waved for his assistant to switch out the old, decaying xenomorphic head. With the press of a few buttons, the somewhat smoky glass case containing the green-corroded black skull descended into the floor. A thick, protective plate covered the gaping hole in the floor over and there was the sound of mechanical sliding beneath the floor.

Longman smiled inwardly. Beneath his feet was a virtual honeycombed maze of cryogenic capsules, containing the specimens for use in his experiments. He had been spending the past few months building stock back up after the mishap on P-133. It was unfortunate that the free-roaming xenomorphs had attracted a predator hunting party to the moon before they had completed reestablishing control. He had hoped the marines being brought in could dissuade the predators from their hunt of his specimens, with the added bonus of using one of the warriors to create a new strain of xenomorph.

As the glass case returned with a new, glistening xenomorph head, Longman's assistant cleared his throat. Longman turned at the attempt to get his attention, and holding a clipboard, the assistant spoke.

"Sir, we've already used three heads tonight waiting for the marines to return," he stated, emphasizing the clipboard in his hand. "General McGarrett might get upset if we keep using up our stock like this, with no results."

Longman's eyes narrowed. "What do you suggest we do?" he snarled. "We're making progress with the hive. Once it is in place, its defenses will be impenetrable. Some sort of 'charge of the light brigade' with our specimens would be foolish and wasteful. Better to keep the horde a few hundred klicks away from danger until we're completely ready."

"I'm not talking about sending the entire horde," the assistant replied, exasperation creeping into his voice. "A strike force should be sufficient."

Longman sneered. "They're still armed," he countered. "Two or three per marine won't be sufficient if they're ready for them. Besides, there's over a hundred kilometers between the two buildings."

"Then strike when they're sleeping," the assistant countered, "if we start now, we should catch them when most of them are asleep." Longman's gaze snapped back to the console; he hadn't even considered that, as dedicated he was to observing and controlling the alien's motions. It made him suddenly realize how tired he himself was.

"That sort of precise control; to sneak up on them while they sleep - would require the helm," Longman thought aloud.

"Yessir," his assistant replied.

Longman shook his head negatively, sitting back and steepling his fingers. "It's not ready yet," He concluded. "There's still issues with synaptic feedback. You're aware of what happened to the last assistant who used it?" Longman stated, reminding the replacement why he had been brought to the base.

There was a pause between the two, and then the assistant stated, "I've been working on that."

"I said no," Longman stated forcefully, not bothering to look back at his assistant. He closed his eyes for a moment, and felt a tired tug on his eyes.

"I'm going to retire for the evening," Longman stated. "It's clear they won't return until daylight returns on the moon." He stood up and started towards the door. "Have me paged when they power up the dropship," he stated on his way out. "That should signal they're on the move."

Longman's assistant did not reply, but the professor was already stepping into the airlock between the lab and the rest of the base. Once the professor had left the room and was out of sight down the corridor, the younger assistant pulled the helmet off his hazmat suit and laid the clipboard on the glass case containing the xenomorphic skull. He then ran his fingers through his greasy black hair and took a seat before the bank of monitors displaying an inverted view of the interior of the main military base on P-133.

After one last glance back towards the entrance to the lab, Longman's assistant leaned forward, interlocked and stretched his fingers, then began to enter a code into the terminal sitting before the monitors.

Twenty-Three Hundred Hours Moon P 133, Military Outpost

Wilkins sighed and threw down the mess of cables. "I told you Naylor, this isn't your source." Wilkins glanced at his watch. "We've been at this off and on for the past five hours, and there's no sign anything in here has power."

"Damn," Naylor cursed. "I'm sure someone at Dengor's keeping tab on us and those aliens somehow. And we need to sever that connection before they get wise and send them after us."

"Look, Mager got the perimeter fence up two hours ago," Wilkins stated, "You sent him off to bed over an hour ago. Suzie got two more cameras up and Silvio's guarding the coffee machine. Don't you think we need a rest?"

Naylor sighed and nodded. Katie and Silvio were on guard, and it was clear the two of them needed some sleep. He was about to concede when he turned back to Wilkins, and a thought suddenly hit him. "Hey, didn't you say Grant drained the fuel?"

Wilkins stared in confusion at what Naylor had just said. "Yeah, he did! Why?"

"Whatever he dumped it into, can't we retrieve it from that?"

Wilkins shook his head. "The fuel just dumped to the ground. The system he used was intended to jettison fuel in flight in case of an impending crash."

Naylor stared at Wilkins and started to make his way out. "What about emergency tanks? Don't you store any on board?"

Wilkins paused, then nodded, "We may have a container or two from a previous mission stored in the lower bay." He conceded.

"There's only one way to find out!" Naylor replied, "Come on Wilkins." Naylor grabbed hold of his shoulder and dragged him out through the main room where the others were sleeping and towards the main door of the building to the dropship outside.

The rain was now beating down heavily and by the time they got to the ship they were almost completely soaked. Naylor ran up the ramp and slipped his way into the gantry. Wilkins pointed to a cargo hatch below him, and Naylor pulled it open. Lying in the small compartment were several tanks. Naylor and Wilkins bent down, and began examining the gauges. On one, he looked up and shouted to Wilkins. "Hey! How far will fifteen liters get us?" Naylor listened but did not get a response. "Wilkins?" He turned to see Wilkins eyes fixed on something on the roof.

Drip-_tsssssssssss_. Something fell, and began hissing and smoking beside him.

Naylor looked down at the fizzing hole in front of him and then up at where it must have came from. There, not more than three meters above him, he saw the alien looking down at him, salivating in expectation of an easy meal. He turned back to Wilkins and saw him run off to the building. "Damn good help he was!"

The alien smiled at his prey, hissing in triumph as it did. Then it let go of the roof and dropped down to the figure below. However, Naylor managed to roll to the side, and fell out on to the ramp. There he skidded slightly, then caught himself. Looking back to the gantry, he saw the alien had landed on all fours beside the ship's ramp, and was slowly rising back up.

Naylor could see his rifle, behind the alien, but there was no easy way past the black-boned creature to get to it. The alien took a few steps forward as Naylor tried to scramble away on all fours. He slipped again on the slick ramp, and fell to his back. When he looked back up, he saw that the alien was down on all fours, raising its barbed tail over its back like a scorpion ready to sting.

The thing leaped at him, and Naylor allowed himself to slide off the ramp into the mud below on the other side. As fast as his reflexes would allow, Naylor rolled beneath the ramp to the other side, and then sat up and looked for signs of the alien. He didn't see it at first, but then he caught sight of it at the bottom of the ramp on the side he had dropped off on. Apparently, it had lost its footing in the slick rain and was fighting to get to its feet amid the grasping mud.

Naylor sensed his opportunity and swung himself back up on the ramp, using the ramp strut to haul himself up. Behind him he could hear the alien hissing in anger. He turned to see that the creature was back up, and shaking itself, looking for Naylor. Without another hesitation, Naylor ran up the ramp back into the gantry.

His pulse rifle was still where he had laid it down, and with a single motion he scooped it up and spun to face the ramp.

It was gone. Carefully, Naylor brought the weapon up into a guarding position as he scanned the area around him. "Shit," he murmured to himself. Where had it gone? He stood quietly several seconds, fingering the trigger finger of his gun, scanning for where it could have gone.

Then he heard the familiar hiss of alien breath behind him. He whirled about as the creature lashed at him with claws. Naylor fell back away from the thing, which had somehow sneaked onto the ramp behind him. He fell onto the ramp, and began to slide and scramble down it, the alien dropping to the floor awaiting for his arrival.

_**Boom!**_

Naylor managed to stop his skidding by hooking his hand into the metal grating in the ramp. He looked across to where the alien should be and saw nothing but a puddle of burning acid eating through the deck plating. He panned the area and saw a few showered alien limbs spewing acid over the side of the ramp, but other than that there was no alien. Naylor squinted, looking as an approaching figure loomed closer in the murky rain.

There was Mager with a rifle in his hand and a faint lick of smoke trickling out of the grenade barrel. A warped grin spread across Mager's face as he reveled in his impressive shot. He walked over to Naylor and helped him up.

"Wilkins said you could use some help!"

Naylor rose to his feet so that he could talk to Mager eye to eye. "Thanks for not killing me," He growled, impressed he hadn't been showered by the acidic explosion. He motioned to the medlab in the dropship, "Get some neutralizing agent on that acid before it eats a hole through the ramp," He ordered. As Mager obeyed, Naylor looked back at the dropship's interior. "Damn thing must have grabbed hold of the ship as we left."

"Then why didn't it come into the building and pick us off there?" Mager asked on his return, as both looked at the melted puddle of alien goo on the ramp.

Naylor turned from the fizzing puddle to look at Mager. "Must have wanted to pick us off one at a time. Probably knew there was no way it could have taken out all of us on its own." Naylor looked back at the steaming acid. "One at a time would have been easier."

"Yeah." Mager shuddered, dumping the powder over the hissing acid stains and then gestured for them to leave.

Naylor knew he wasn't having a good day.

Mager and Naylor both re-entered the building and were greeted by the stares of the others. Naylor waved off their questions as he strode towards Wilkins.

"Wilkins!" Naylor shouted.

The captain swallowed, and then answered with a "Yeah?"

"You didn't answer my question! How far would fifteen liters of fuel get us?"

Wilkins sighed in relief, and then answered the questions. "Not very far. I would say about hundred kilometers. It'd take at least fifty liters of fuel to get us out of the atmosphere. Not counting what it would take to get us back to Dengor safely."

"Damn!" Naylor cursed, sitting down. "Well now that that's out, does anyone have any ideas?"

Once again the room was quiet, as the other marines shrugged or murmured they had no ideas to get them out of their predicament. Katie suggested checking the atmospheric processor, but Wilkins assured the group that the processor only used solid fuel – uranium – which, like the outpost's fusion's core, wouldn't work in the dropship. Naylor hung his head. Once again, it was up to him to save them all.

The room remained quiet for at least the next half hour. Naylor sat to one side, where he could focus on the problem. The other marines simply wandered about or keep a loose eye out for more aliens – or predators. Wilkins sat by the console, silently watching the radar.

"I got it!" Finally rang from Suzie as her voice cut through the silence.

Naylor looked up to meet her excited face as she stated. "The APC!"

Confused looks passed among the marines, and Naylor's face didn't light up like Suzie's at the exclamation. In the background, he heard Silvio cursing. "What about it?" Naylor intoned.

"There's fuel in it! There was a full tank! And seeing as we only drove about two kilometers in it there should be enough to get us out of here!"

"She's right," Wilkins stated, rising from his seat. His own excitement began to build as he stated. "It uses the same fuel as the dropship – they're interchangeable in case of emergencies."

Naylor wasn't as enthusiastic. "It's over a hundred kilometers away! And we have no transport! A 200k trek with a battle in-between! We'll be knackered!" He looked down and tossed a stone idly at the surrounding rubble. "I doubt we'd even be able to stay alive through the battle!"

"God-damn it Naylor," Katie growled, rising. "It's our only chance!" She turned to Suzie. "How far would it get us?"

Suzie furrowed her brow to think, but Wilkins answered first. "Seventy liters," he stated, and when that didn't register a response, he added, "Uh, that should be just enough to get us back home, if we coast home and do a free-fall reentry."

Naylor's face still didn't match the other's enthusiasm. Going back on a suicide mission was the last thing he wanted to do. He knew that the aliens were still there, and there was no telling where the escaped predators would be in all this mess. He'd just gotten one of his own marines killed because he didn't know the full extent of what he had been up against. He closed his eyes. But it was their one and only way off the planet, and they were sure to die if they didn't try.

"Okay, if that's our only option, you've convinced me! But, we'll need a full night's rest!" Naylor conceded.

"Katie, I'll take the next watch. Mager, you get the next in four hours." Naylor pulled his pulse rifle up to rest in his lap. "And no strip poker tonight." He grumbled.

Suzie made a face as if disappointed, but then dutifully went about with the others to set up sleeping rolls. Within a few minutes, everyone had found a place to sleep. True to the marine style, they slept with their weapons at their head, lengthwise in a circle around the center of the room, in a foot-head-foot-head pattern. Naylor, with the help of Wilkins, set up the heating units in the very center to keep the marines from freezing to death.

"Should we be using the fuel from these units?" Naylor asked.

"They don't use enough to worry about," Wilkins stated. "Besides, they make for rotten dropship fuel." As he set one of the heaters down and set the timer for it to activate, he looked back to Naylor.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?"

Naylor paused to look at Wilkins. He sarcastically smiled and stated, "I'll let you know once I make it up."

Everyone but Naylor eventually nodded off and went to sleep, though several seemed to toss in their sleep – most especially Silvio and Katie. Naylor knew when it was his turn there would be nightmares. He actually didn't care whether he slept ever again. But deep down he knew he would have to. He just questioned himself if he could handle it.


	6. Chapter 6

Six Zero-Five Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Abandoned Military Base Alpha

The four remaining predators stood atop the human's abandoned building and watched the aliens feverishly working away at turning the building into a hive. They remained silent and still, a skill they had a lot of practice at as a hunter race. They had been watching for some time, and not one had uttered a sound as they watched the aliens work. Finally, one of the predators leaned forward over the edge of the building to get a better look down the side of the building.

The predator's eyes widened as an alien arced upwards towards his face. The thing must have been hiding just below, just as patiently as the predators had waited. The alien's powerful claws dug into the predator's tough flesh, and the tall creature fell back, struggling to rid itself of the alien screeching and clawing at it. One of the other predators had the presence of mind to pull up its speargun, and a single shot skewered the alien beast and sent it hurling across the roof and over the side. The force of the speargun was so great that it had left the predator beneath the alien unharmed.

The predators knew the battle was about to begin as the rest of the alien colony below erupted in shouts and screeches following their cousin's death. They knew they were but four against the multitude of aliens beneath them, but it was a warrior's fate to die in battle, not running. Such had been the words of Qui'chi, who had rallied them to return and face the marines. Qui'chi and his companions Wrk'narl, Gech, and Krr'iii stood at the building's edge, and readied their weapons. Qui'chi nodded to Gech, who removed his pistol from his belt and aimed downwards at the howling mob of aliens below them. Gech's aim was precise and his temperament better as he fired and watched the bolt streak into the fury of aliens at the building's foot. One of the aliens caught the bolt in its chest, and popped like an overripe fruit as the electricity ran through it. The shockwave from the blast sawed through at least seven more aliens around it, which died with a horrible screech.

Zero-Five Fifteen Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

Longman jumped out of his seat as he watched his precious pets fall. When the attack had begun, Longman's assistant had urgently paged him to return to the lab. His eyes remained fixed to the screen as the predators dropped from the roof of the building and began their bloody siege on the alien menace. Black, skeletal xenomorphs fell as the predator's weapons of destruction tore through body after body. Even the alien's claws were no match for the metal blades of the predators, and though the odds favored the aliens, the predators were quickly evening them. Longman urged his pets on as he watched their slaughter, but they seemed to gain no ground. The enraged predators fought like a hundred men, sending the waves of aliens backward as parts and pieces.

This was the ultimate test for Longman's pets and yet they couldn't seem to rise to the challenge. Longman leapt at the mike, and started shouting commands. Back at the predator building, the aliens seemed to fall back from the predator menace. Sensing a change in the pitch of battle, the predators stood back to back, their chests heaving from exertion, their weapons at the ready. Qui'chi's battle rage rose to a height, and he hurled off his protective mask to gaze directly upon the aliens. He let loose an earth-shattering roar, and the aliens continued to back away.

With the slaughter momentarily paused, Longman sorted out his thoughts and quickly began relaying his battle strategy to the aliens. The aliens hissed and screeched as Longman laid his plans, and a thin line of sweat threaded down his brow. The aliens had to strike before the predators decided to first. He finished the commands just as Wrk'narl leveled his speargun at one of the warrior aliens.

"Into the building! Scale the walls and hide in the shadows. Go anywhere you can and wait for their attack." As his last command, Longman commanded one of his minions to detonate one of the special anti-predator grenades that remained in the APC.

The shrill noise of the detonating grenade filled the predator's ears. It sounded like electrical feedback, but was higher pitched. Wrk'narl found himself dropping his speargun to cover his ears as he felt his eardrums almost burst. When the noise finally subsided and the predators had shaken off its effects, the aliens were gone from sight.

Zero Five Twenty Hours Moon P 133, Abandoned Military Base Alpha

"They must have gone deeper into the building." Krr'iii voiced in his native language. Each of the warriors paused and examined the area with their various modes of sight. Even though they went through all the ranges available to them, they couldn't make out the image of any of the aliens.

Qui'chi moved first. The predators regained the energy that powered their weapons by kinetic movement, and the longer they kept on the move, the quicker their weapons would replenish. Behind Qui'chi, he could hear Wrk'narl complain he only had a few spears left. Qui'chi motioned for the predator to be quiet, and they spread out, looking for their prey.

Deeper in the bowels of the predator base, the aliens moved in hectic patterns, spreading themselves out in the dark recesses and in small niches. All they had to do was wait, but the more they waited the more their hunger and anger increased. Yet they knew they had to do what the voice in their heads told them.

It seemed like hours passed, as the predators slowly combed the building for sign of the aliens. Qui'chi was the most alert, checking walls, ceiling and floors of every area before he entered. His caution had been one reason he had survived both the marine assault and the alien attack so long. He needed a good attack plan, but that would require him knowing where the aliens were.

Far to his left, Wrk'narl was checking out one of the anterior rooms of their encampment. He entered with his speargun held before him, his vision switched to the bloody red that made the alien beasts stand out like creatures made of neon blue. An alien, slowly twisting in its hiding place on the far wall greeted his sight. Wrk'narl chuckled beneath his mask. The alien obviously thought he didn't see it. Wrk'narl slowly brought his speargun up to sight along the wicked shaft. He was going to enjoy this…

And that was when the wall above Wrk'narl seemed to fall atop him. Its mass pushed him to him to the floor, and as he struggled to free himself, he realized it was no wall at all. It was a mass of aliens that had fallen on him, screeching and tearing at him with their long claws. Wrk'narl bellowed his rage as he tried to reach out through the scratching and tearing aliens to get at his spear-gun. As he did, one of the vile beasts severed his hand with a sharp flick of its tail, and Wrk'narl only roared louder, this time in pain. Then, behind his pinned head, he could hear the sound of an alien hiss as it parted its jaws wide open. Wrk'narl screamed one last time, this time in pure fear.

Qui'chi and the others heard Wrk'narl's scream, and they backtracked to locate the source. By the time they had located the source though, it was too late. Wrk'narl's ripped and torn body lay in the doorway, the back of his head gone. There were no signs of the aliens anywhere.

"Something's not right," Krr'iii stated, shaking his head. "The black ones do not fight with stealth in numbers. Something is leading them."

Qui'chi nodded, as he scoured the room again with his varied senses. Still, there was nothing. "We should leave, regroup and strike when we have surprise." He stated.

"Flee, again?" hissed Gech. "Perhaps we should not have come back at all, in the guidance of such a coward!"

Qui'chi whirled and grabbed Gech by his mask. In a flash, Qui'chi's wristblades were bare, and he shoved Gech against the wall. The other predator held his ground, daring Qui'chi to strike. The two stood there as several heartbeats passed, then Qui'chi tore Gech's mask off.

Stepping back, Qui'chi bellowed, "Remember too, that you ran as well. We all did. Our ancestors will turn their faces from us for what we have done here," he raved, "We can only atone ourselves in a glorious fight." He stated spreading his arms. "Not sacrificing ourselves to some enemy that seeks to hunt us as we hunt our prey. We are not the cattle to be slaughtered. We are the warriors who revel in glory!"

Gech hissed in derision, and looked over to Krr'iii, who seemed uneasy about the whole situation. "Take your cowardly friend and run," Gech hissed to Krr'iii. "He does well to speak about glory, but I see his words are hollow." He gave Qui-chi one last withering glance, "I intend to die in battle."

He stepped past Qui'chi, who threw his last insult at Gech, "So you can die like Wrk'narl? Go right ahead, _fool_!"

As Qui'chi watched Gech disappear into the darkness, he noticed Krr'iii following him. As Gech had done, Krr'iii disappeared into the darkness after the stout predator. Qui'chi watched in disbelief and growing anger. They were being fools. He knew they should wait until they had the advantage, but there was no swerving them now. He had to look out for himself.

As Qui'chi turned to leave, he heard the distinctive hiss of an alien from nearby. His muscles suddenly tensed at the sound, and Qui'chi slowly began to turn around…

Zero Five Thirty Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

Mager couldn't sleep, the day's proceedings were tormenting him, and he didn't want to fall asleep for fear of the day to repeat in his head, he didn't want to see Drafe die again. He sat up and looked around, he wondered how they could possibly succeed, much less survive, after the day they just had.

Mager stood and made his way to the huge, torn doors of the old installation. He paced around and finally opened them to gaze at the alien planet that he was really beginning to hate. He stared in the direction of the building that they had just come from, a blank, hateful stare. He hated the thing and soon he would be going back. As he looked off in that far away direction, he saw the dim morning light swiftly brighten. Mager squinted as he tried to make out what it was. Turning, he suddenly raced back inside, to check the radar Wilkins had left on. Still standing as he adjusted the range, he gazed at the minute screen, watching as a large blur appeared in the general location of main military building.

Mager's eyes focused on the erupting blur as he sank to his knees, his face pale with despair. "No," he breathed. His blood drained from his face as he leaned against the terminal for support. "No," he repeated, and then began repeating it over and over, each time with growing despair, disbelief and anger.

The others marines, awakened by the sound, came running in to see what the cries were about, and were greeted with Mager on all fours beating the ground with his fists.

"What's going on?" Asked Suzie, the first to arrive. Mager didn't answer directly, and the room quickly filled as Naylor, Katie and Wilkins came to the room. Silvio came last, plodded along smacking his head with his palm in a futile attempt to wake up.

Without looking up Mager pointed back out the main doors in the direction of the building. Everyone's gaze fixed on the fading horizon light in the distance.

"What the fuck is that?" Naylor asked, turning to look down at Mager.

"A predator," Mager mouthed, slamming his fist into the metal of the terminal. "A god-damned predator self-destructed."

Naylor grabbed the marine and hauled him up. He spun Mager so that the two were face to face as Naylor held the marine by his collar. "What?" he growled, shaking Mager out his stupor.

"A pred must have just self destructed at the building containing the APC!" Mager stated through gritted teeth as he gained control of himself again, and shook himself loose of Naylor. "Man, we're dead! We've got no way off the planet now." Naylor found himself shrinking back, absorbing the news.

Suzie turned away at the news, raising her hand to her forehead as she did so. Katie let out a long sigh and sat down, and Wilkins found himself stumbling into a seat as well. Silvio shook his head, rolled his eyes and simply stated. "Man, I'm going back to bed."

Zero Five Thirty Hours Moon P-133, Abandoned Military Base Alpha

The aliens stood mulling over what was left of the building. They also contemplated their numbers. The sudden loss of telepathic contact with a multitude of their numbers had beset the entire colony with confusion as they tried to sort out what had exactly happened.

A voice once again entered their heads. It managed to force itself over the cacophony of alien telepathic messages, though it seemed edged with static, as if it was being blocked by something large and dense. The thought repeated itself over and over until the aliens responded. "Dig. **Dig damn you!** You have to find the arm!"

The aliens, still confused and in shock, reached out with their senses in puzzlement as they all wondered why they had to find this precious arm. "Don't question my motives! **Just find it!**" The voice rang as the aliens mulled about.

The urgency and firmness of the thought brought them into line, and quickly alien after alien began poring through the ruins in search of the requested arm. As each stone was moved the voice became louder and more insistent until the arm was uncovered. The strong voice in their mind became stronger upon the item's recovery, and a wash of relief rolled over the alien colony. The arm was badly beaten but still in working order. The alien who had uncovered it, picked it up and moved to one side as the others received their own separate instructions. A list of new orders entered their heads. They had to find the human's metal vehicle, and set it on its tough, rubbery limbs. In short order, the aliens found it, and quickly had it uncovered. Several of the aliens balked at dealing with the unliving thing. What could it possibly do for them? Regardless of their protest, however, the commanding voice passed instructions to the beasts to right the vehicle. It took a host of aliens to turn the massive machine over, but the job was eventually completed, and entry to the vehicle's interior was achieved.

The alien clutching the arm entered and immediately received a barrage of instructions to attach the mechanical arm to equally mechanical interior of vehicle, in the metal beast's "head". It was a long and difficult procedure, and the metal beast hissed and sparked in protest of receiving the new, odd appendage. Once the procedure was complete, however, the aliens felt the mental voice in their head grow stronger. The voice spoke to their anger, and the aliens felt their hatred grow in leaps and bounds.

Zero Five Forty Five Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

Longman finally sat back from the microphone, but he did not feel triumphant, nor did he feel pleased with the way his pets had performed against the predators. _If that's how they perform against predators with a huge advantage, how are they going to deal with the humans now their numbers have been decreased?_ The thought raced over again and again in his mind. He'd have to recalculate. He needed to review the marine's files – find out a bit more about them.

Longman's younger assistant looked over at the uneasy professor as he rubbed his temples with his palms. It had been a long night, and the entertainment hadn't quite gone the way they had planned. They had used at least three more of the alien's skulls since Longman had first retired, and now their time was spent merely to salvage their efforts and put them back on track.

_Shhhhhhnnnnnggg_

The main door to the lab whizzed open and General McGarrett's portly form slid in. He didn't bother to don the hazmat suit the other men wore. Nor did he look the slightest bit pleased as he quickly made his way over to Longman. Before the professor could properly greet the general, the beefy man cold-cocked the professor, knocking the spindly scientist's glasses from their perch and near dropping the man to the floor. "What the hell are you doing?" McGarrett growled, standing over the hunched professor, who held his bleeding nose with his delicate fingers. "I understand half the xenomorphs – or more – have been lost! How come you weren't prepared for this you…you incompetent prick?"

Longman managed to get back into his chair, and found a clean cloth to dab his nose with. "I-I didn't have much time to prepare, after the tranquilizer incident," Longman stated, failing to note McGarrett's frown. "Your marines weren't supposed to leave so many predators alive." At that, McGarrett's frown deepened, and the bulging veins in his neck and face seemed ready to erupt. "How could I have known your men would get so lucky to survive our trap?"

The general fumed several seconds more as Longman seemed to ignore him, cleaning the blood from his face and recovering his glasses. When Longman finally looked back up at the general, the huge man had calmed down and seemed ready to gloss over the current situation. He almost laughed as he answered Longman's question. "Well, you're right. How were you supposed to know?"

Longman gave a sickly smile, and McGarrett whirled away. Longman seemed on the verge of a speech as McGarrett quietly reached into his coat pocket and pulled a 9mm pistol from the inside pocket. "Absolutely right," McGarrett continued, and then whirled to face Longman, holding the pistol up. "You couldn't have known. Because... You're not the right man for the job!" He leveled the gun at Longman before either the scientist or his assistant could react. A single, loud explosion echoed from the pistol, and a moment later Longman collapsed back in his seat, his eyes blankly staring up at the ceiling, his face no longer only splattered with blood, but also with grayish-red bits of his brain as well.

"He really got on my nerves." McGarrett stated, slowly lowering the pistol. He suddenly turned to face the young assistant, and looked solemnly at him. "Can you run this operation?"

"W-w-w-w-w-w..." the young man stammered, pulling at his tight collar. He glanced back at the slowly swiveling body of Longman in the chair, and swiftly nodded to the general. "Of course," he breathed, his throat dry as if a desert.

"Good." McGarrett smiled, holstering the pistol. "I'll get you another assistant." He looked back at the bleeding corpse of Longman. "Preferably someone who can clean out that worthless lump of shit down there." He nodded as blood from Longman's head wound finally dripped to the floor.

"Th-th-thank you, sir." Swallowed the assistant. He was still in shock, and glanced nervously back at the unmoving corpse.

McGarrett had turned away to leave, but then turned back to settle his gaze on the young assistant "If you fail me... You'll end up just like him. Lying on the ground, bleeding from a large head wound!" The general's smile widened as the young assistant nodded, and then the general turned and left.

The assistant waited until the general was out of sight, and then turned back round to the computer and kicked the corpse out of the chair. "Thanks dad, for keeping my identity secret from McGarrett. May have been the only smart move you made." The sightless corpse of Longman continued to stare up at the ceiling as his son continued his voice slow, almost faltering. "He was right. You were so damn irritating. You always liked taking the credit for everything that happens. Guess you never thought you'd have to take the blame when things went wrong." Longman's son gave a short, giddy chuckle, and then concluded. "I knew if I interfered with the project you'd end up taking the blame. Sorry it had to end like this, dad, but McGarrett's right. You're just not the right man for this job."

He looked up at the console and realized that the alien skull had almost fully decomposed. Without hesitation, he pressed a button and watched as the floor of the cube whizzed away, taking the decaying skull with it. Moments later, a new one was in its place, still glossy and glittering with slime.

Longman's son stepped back, and then seemed to notice the bloodied sterile suit he was wearing. "I always thought these things were worthless." He stated, sliding it off and dropping it near his dead father. "Damn you, old man, for always doing things that weren't necessary." He stopped, and then looked straight at his father's corpse, who continued to stare into the world beyond. "Now I'm running the show, and things will be done right." He chuckled as he turned to look at the alien's skull, and brushed the cube that contained it as if petting a favorite dog. "And those marines! They have no chance!"

A moment later, an alarm light flickered to life on the main console behind Longman's son, followed by an audible beep. "Crap," The young man spat between his clenched teeth. Maneuvering to the console, he depressed a series of buttons and turned to watch the cube containing the alien skull descend below the floor level, and vanish completely as a steel plate slid over the opening in the floor.

A few moments later, the main lab door opened as three men in sterile suits came in. One was relatively shorter and younger than the other two. Longman's son made a quick notation of who they were. Two were lab janitorial staff, while the third was obviously a junior lab assistant. Longman's son let the two janitors go to work removing the body and cleaning up the blood as the young assistant looked on, obviously shocked by mess.

"What happened here?" the assistant asked Longman's son, wide-eyed.

"Better not to ask right now," the young Longman replied. "I'll explain later."

Within ten minutes, the janitors had completed their grisly work, and no visible remnants of the bloody mess remained. They even removed the bloodied chair from the lab, replacing it with a fresh copy from elsewhere nearby. From the looks of it, Longman's son noted, it looked like one of the chairs from the boardroom upstairs. Without a word, the two janitors took their gear and left, leaving Longman's son and his new assistant alone.

"Sir," the assistant asked in a quiet voice, "what happened? An experiment –"

"No," Longman's son replied, cutting the question off, "An angry, displeased general with a 9mm handgun. Same thing is in store for me or you if we screw up. Understand?"

The young man swallowed hard, and nodded his affirmation. "What's your name?" Longman's son asked, suddenly curious.

"Victor Michaels, sir," the young man replied.

"Well, assistant Michaels, you can call me Professor Longman," the elder stated. No sense in calling himself junior anymore, he surmised to himself. "As for the sir part, that was dragged out the door just a few minutes ago. I'm not that old yet for you to be calling me sir, understand?"

"Yes…Professor Longman," Michaels replied. There was a moment of silence between the two. Michaels took a long look at the room around him and inquired, "What are you working on in here, professor? New weapons?"

"You could sort of say that," Longman replied, sitting down in the new chair. It was rather comfortable, though he quickly noted a cigarette burn in the leather upholstery. He examined it more closely, and realized it was a cigar burn. Longman then slid back in the chair until his head rested against the rear portion of the seat. "What do you know about the xenomorph threat from Acheron?"

Michaels quickly turned to look at Longman. "I..I've heard a little. Most of the stuff is top secret, though …I've been able to decrypt some of the files."

Longman nodded. No wonder the general had sent this young boy. He was just young enough to be enthusiastic, but Longman sensed he was much craftier than he let on, and had knowledge of the xenomorphs that most of the scientists in this base lacked.

"This is a top secret project," Longman warned, turning to the console. "Word of what goes on here must never leave this room."

"Yes sir," Michaels responded enthusiastically. Longman slowly turned in his chair to give Michaels a withering glare before the younger man turned his gaze to the floor and apologized. Seemingly satisfied, Longman ran through a short sequence of buttons, then sat back as he heard the metal seal on the floor unlock.

Michaels, whose gaze was already on the floor, backed away in surprise as the panel on the floor slid away and a metal platform rose up to waist height. Atop the platform was the opaque cube swirling with colored mist. Michaels let out a gasp as the mist cleared, revealing the xenomorph skull inside, wired with a host of electrodes that crackled with electricity.

"What is that?" Michaels asked in awe.

"It doesn't matter," Longman replied evenly. "Come here, to this control panel."

Victor responded immediately, tearing his gaze from the slick skull to where Longman waited at the console. As he approached, Longman handed the young man a clipboard scratched with notes and formulas. He stood, and offered the seat to the young man. For the next few minutes, Longman gave Victor a quick rundown of the console controls and a list of things to watch for.

"Keep these statistics current," Longman stated as Michaels nodded. Longman stepped back and watched Michaels at the controls. The younger man caught on quickly, with almost no need for Longman to intercede. Longman smiled to himself. Not only did the boy learn well, he took orders twice as well. As Longman slowly stepped away from the console, confident Michaels had it under control; Longman began to contemplate his next step. He was going to enjoy this…


	7. Chapter 7

Seven Zero Six Twenty Two Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

The marines were jumbled about the main room of the complex, their heads spinning with the realization of the futility of their situation. Katie and Suzie sat back to back, talking about old memories and the slow days back on earth. Silvio sat hunched in a corner, his good fist wrapped under his chin, no smile crossing his face. Mager, for his part, sat in a corner, gazing up at the rising sun in the crimson sky. Every few minutes, he idly thumped the back of his head against the concrete wall behind him, as if to clear his mind of the reality of the group's situation.

Off in his own corner, Naylor studied a host of maps he had sprawled over the floor. His mind was in a whirl as he sought some way to make sense of their current situation and find some loophole he had missed earlier. As for Wilkins, he sat just inside the metal door to the outside, staring at the lifeless hulk of the dropship, contemplating his current condition.

Several hours had passed before Suzie looked up from her hands and stopped talking to Katie. Her head was on fire from memories before reaching the alien moon, and she could feel her sight fuzz with the old memories. She shook her head to clear her vision and then stopped to look at the faces around her. Each of them looked as if they had been hollowed from the inside out and smudged with a layer of red mud. She realized that to survive, they need a chance.

"Guys, the APC may have survived the blast," she quipped.

Only Silvio bothered to look up. "Yeah, and monkeys –"

"Don't say it," Katie interrupted with an ice-cold stare. She fondled the pulse rifle lying across her lap, her gaze digging straight towards Silvio's heart. Silvio turned away, cursing to himself.

Wilkins looked away from the dropship long enough to add, "Suzie may be right. That thing has got armor two inches thick."

"Man, that thing was at ground zero for a predator self-destruct. Those things have a half-kilometer blast radius." Mager stated.

"What if it wasn't at ground zero?" Suzie asked.

Even Naylor looked up at that remark. Suzie sensed the sudden doubt, and leapt on it. "I mean, no one's bothered to check that out. The predators may have been fighting outside of the building."

"That's a hundred kilometers away, Suzie," Naylor stated. "We'd be travelling through a host of aliens – and maybe a few predators – just to check it out."

"But," Suzie pouted, "Isn't it worth trying?"

Wilkins suddenly broke into the conversation again. "There may be a way to check…"

Naylor turned his focus from Suzie to Wilkins, as the other marines did so as well. "How?" Naylor asked.

Wilkins paused for a second, as if contemplating what he was about to say next. Then he quickly spat the answer out as he rose from his sitting position. "Homing beacon."

Wilkins noted that he suddenly saw the marines break out into a grin. It was a few moments before Naylor stood up, realizing what Wilkins meant. "Of course," he mumbled. "Tuned to the dropship's frequency for emergency pick-up, right? Can we pick it up from here?"

Wilkins nodded, as the rest of the marines began to stand up and make their way to the dropship. Wilkins rushed ahead, half-jogging, and clambered into the cockpit first, followed by Naylor who took the copilot's seat next to the pilot. Behind, the rest of the marines watched from the gantry walkway.

Wilkins quickly stepped through the power-up procedure for the dropship, with Naylor aiding at Wilkins's command. Within a few minutes, the ship was powered up, and Wilkins reached for a clear plastic cover over a panel of buttons. Tentatively raising the shield over the buttons, he gazed at Naylor and remarked, "Cross your fingers."

Behind the two, in the hall, Silvio, followed by other marines, starting crossing their fingers. Wilkins fingers danced over the buttons he had uncovered until he found the one he was looking for. With a deliberate motion, Wilkins jabbed the button, which began to immediately pulsate off and on with a yellow light. As it did, Wilkins looked up to the radar scope set between the pilot seats.

"There," he finally bellowed, pointing to a tiny blip in the northeast corner of the radar. Behind him, Naylor and Wilkins could hear the other marines shout in relief and give each other high-fives. Even Wilkins let himself break out in a wide grin. Naylor, however, kept his expression level, though he did nod in appreciation.

"How much fuel have we got?" Naylor asked.

Wilkins checked the gauge, and sighed heavily. "With the fuel we found, we can get most of the way there. I think I could set you down where we landed last time. The rest would have to be on foot."

"That's still two klicks on foot through enemy territory," Mager stated, "Pretty barren terrain at that. No cover."

Naylor sat emotionlessly as the banter continued behind of him. He stopped listening as Drafe's death replayed in his mind. Now, not only did he have to face his friend's death, he had to face planning to return to where the marine had died, and putting the others into the same danger again. He knew this was trip he was going to regret going on, and it tore at his stomach like an incubating alien in his chest.

Katie had just finished saying something Naylor hadn't caught when Mager screwed his face into a wrinkled ball. The marine clenched his fists as his voice rose, stating "Better to put up a fight instead of dying of starvation!"

Katie looked up from the floor and smiled slyly as she slowly whispered "Okay. Count me in. I didn't get enough action the last time. This time, it will be different."

"Yep!" Silvio stated, giving a hoot of delight. He raised his arm and punched the air with his stump. "Give me some red hot action! We'll be ready for them this time!"

Naylor kept quiet as the others kept talking. He sank into his own thoughts as he wondered if he would be able to lead the group back to the APC without losing anyone else. As he looked around, he suddenly noticed the talking had stopped. Everyone was looking at him, with puzzled expressions on their faces. He had not been listening and quickly became annoyed as he could feel their eyes beginning to burn into him. He suddenly stood and faced them, his face contorting into a mask of anger and disgust. Then without a word, he pushed past the marines and walked out of the dropship clutching his head in his palms.

"Something I said?" Silvio quipped, but his remark was greeted by nothing but evil stares from the others.

The cold, red rain had started again, and Naylor walked through the pouring rain as he made his way back to the main building. He hated everything about the world they were on, the atmosphere, the terrain, and the position they had found themselves. He felt a terrible gnawing inside him, as if something had eaten out a part of his body, leaving it to cave in on itself. He felt sick, and almost wondered if it might kill him.

Naylor entered the old installation and slumped down the wall to the floor on the far side of the main chamber. He could see the red rain dripping in from the holes in the ceiling, running along conduit lines and eventually collecting in crimson pools of blood-like mud on the floor.

The sight reminded Naylor he had seen all kinds of death during his life. He had seen one of his favorite professors ripped apart at the military academy when a captured Predator the professor was using had broken free and killed the old man before the guards watching over the creature were able to bring the brutal being down. He remembered the horror he felt when he was called in to identify the remains of his parents shortly after his graduation – they had been brutally slain by predators while camping on a remote world. He remembered the death of Jacqueline – an officer-in-training he had taken a special interest in – during the alien hive raid where he had lost three marines. Every time, Drafe had been there to help him through the loss. But this time, it was Drafe he had lost.

_Clank_

Naylor reacted instantly, whirling to face the noise as he drew his pistol from his hip holster. Naylor brought the gun to level at a shadowy figure just inside the main door. "Relax Naylor. It's me." The femininely shaped figure stated, raising her arms to show she was unarmed. Naylor squinted at the figure as slipped the pistol back into his the pseudo-leather holster. "Katie? What do you want?"

Katie strode towards Naylor, wending her way between the muddy pools of blood-colored water and piles of debris in the room. She squatted down next to Naylor, and idly gazed down one of the old installations abandoned corridors. Naylor watched her intently as she seemed to ignore him. She finally seemed to sense Naylor's stare upon her, and turned her head to face him, tossing several strands of grime-stained hair aside from her eyes to stare back at Naylor. "I know you still miss Drafe." She stated softly.

Naylor's gaze flicked away as he sought to focus his sight on something other than Katie. He settled at staring at the scraps of wires and broken concrete as his feet. Katie sat tensed, but said nothing. Finally, Naylor sighed and stated. "We go back a long way."

"I know," she replied flatly. "I know all about it."

Naylor's gaze snapped back up to look at Katie as she met his stern gaze. "Everything?" Naylor nearly choked.

"Yes. I know about your parents, your time at the academy, how you and Drafe finally came to know each other," she stopped, sensing Naylor understood. She tipped her head slightly to one side, and added, "I also know that you're hurting much more than you're letting on." She finally got to him and slumped down next to him.

"How do you know that?" Naylor stated, turning his gaze back to his boots.

Katie let her gaze fall to the same spot. "Drafe talked a lot when you weren't around," she stated, to which Naylor grunted. "Usually he talked about you."

Naylor picked up a handful of pebbles from the rubble around him, and started plopping the stones, one by one, into a pool of reddish rainwater. "He always did like to brag," he stated, stopping for a moment to look back at Katie.

Her gaze held his as she stated, "He said you were the bravest man he knew. He said he would do anything you ordered him to, because he trusted you completely. He said he'd even be willing to put his own life on the line to save you."

Naylor stopped tossing the pebbles, and his eyes slowly slid back towards the ground. "He said that, did he?" Naylor mumbled, dropping the rest of the pebbles.

"Don't blame yourself, Naylor. You didn't cause Drafe's death," Katie stated.

Naylor felt a throbbing pain grow in his mind. A hundred possibilities ran through his head, pulling his feelings into a thousand different directions. "If I hadn't been running – if I had taken the rear to make sure all of you were safe…"

"Then you'd be dead with Drafe," Katie stated. "It was a freak accident. You couldn't have stopped him from falling. If you had been in the rear, you and Drafe would have been overwhelmed. You'd both be dead, and we wouldn't have someone to lead us forward."

Naylor shook his head. In his mind, he still felt he had abandoned Drafe when Drafe needed him most. If he had died there, so what…

Katie reached out and suddenly grabbed Naylor by the shoulders, and began shaking him out of his stupor. "Naylor, we need you here, right now. If you don't lead us, we're…going…to…die."

Naylor couldn't fight it any longer. The pain had to get out. It was just too much for him to take. It felt like someone had drilled a hole in the back of his head and was whisking his brain into a stew. He doubled over, his breathing becoming raspy and quick. He suddenly grasped a handful of hair and let out a sobbing scream as all the pain he felt came gushing forth. The agonizing scream brought Naylor to his knees, and when he finished, all that was left was Naylor gasping for air, with clumps of his hair in each of his hands. He lay on the floor wheezing for breath as the last remnants of resentment, regret, anger, fear and hatred left his body and left him hollow and empty.

Katie looked down at him as he laid on the floor gasping for breath. The other marines, who had been waiting outside, came running into the main chamber to see what happened. Before any of them could ask a single question, Katie quickly raised her finger to her lips and waved them away. They all nodded and quietly left the room.

Once they had left, Katie bent down and gently rubbed the agonized marine's shoulder as she asked. "Naylor?"

Naylor grunted, too exhausted to speak.

"We're going to rest for a while, okay? I'll be at the console over there," she stated, pointing to the bank of computers not more than five meters away. "If you need me, just let me know." Naylor nodded as he slowly slid his hands over his face. "You get some rest, and …when you feel better, we'll talk about the base, okay?" From behind the cover of his hands, Naylor nodded. Gingerly, Katie stood up and moved over to the computer console, though she kept a sharp eye on his motionless form. After a somewhat tense half hour watching the motionless marine, she heard the first snores slip from Naylor lips. Sighing in relief, she quickly slipped out to talk to the others.

They were waiting just outside, and nabbed her as soon as she walked out of the main chamber.

"It's okay." Katie whispered, holding her hand up and answered their inquiring looks. "He just had some… issues… with Drafe's death."

"What exactly happened in there?" Silvio's voice sounded strangely concerned for once. "That cry he gave sounded either like you were caving his head in or…," he paused, motioning with his hands and concluding with, "Well, you know – um, comforting him."

"I'm not saying anymore," Katie said dryly as the other marines gave Silvio a withered groan. Silvio only shrugged. "If Naylor wants to tell you about it, that's his decision, but for now, don't mention this or Drafe, okay?"

They all nodded, except for Silvio. Soon, the marine found all eyes staring at him.

"That goes double for you Silvio!" Katie glared at him. Silvio gave Katie a "Who me?" look, and she warned him "We know what you're like. So just keep your trap shut!"

Silvio shrugged, looking genuinely disappointed, as he quietly whispered "Okay."

Zero Seven Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

Inside the complex, Naylor's rage and self-hate had finally been expelled. He had slept, but not dreamt. He slowly sat up, feeling somewhat empty and hollow. There was a pang deep within him that felt as if his soul had been wrenched from his body, and he desperately wanted it back. He felt the empty spot begin to fill with rage, and a desire to get things done. His mind fixated on the task ahead of him – a grueling march to the alien's stronghold, the recapture of the APC followed by a flight back to Dengor. The prize at the end of the crusade was simple. All he wanted was McGarrett's lips wrapped around the barrel of his pulse rifle's grenade launcher barrel as he pulled the trigger.

Getting to his feet, he felt an incredible lightness flow over him. He was tired of taking commands. Now it was time to give them, and expect results. Turning squarely on his heels, he marched towards the main doorway towards the dropship. Nearby, he could hear a cacophony of voices sharpening into a conversation between his marines. As a telling grin began to creep across his face, he defiantly marched towards the chamber, into the midst of the marine's idle conversation.

The whole room suddenly dropped into silence as Naylor's shadow-cloaked form filled the frame of the doorway. Despite the shadows that surrounded him, his cocky grin spread from ear to ear. As the marines stared at their leader, he asked Mager, "How much weapon ammo do we have left?"

Mager looked to Katie, who seemed as dumbstruck as he was. "Um, er-" Mager fumbled, trying to quickly think and count. His eyebrows danced as he made the mental calculations. "About ten or so pulse rifle mags, …and maybe seven smart gun belts," He stopped to consider if he'd left anything out, and then added, "Oh yeah, and a case of grenades for the pulse rifles – about thirty rounds."

Naylor nodded as if to thank Mager for the count, and then swaggered into the room, ambling past the marines to the dented card table that had been used a few nights before. Naylor sat down in one of the metal chairs and motioned for the others to take seats nearby. They quickly obeyed, nearly leaving Wilkins in a blur of motion. After a moment's pause, the pilot found himself a seat and joined the others at the table.

"That was Drafe's chair," Naylor stated coldly to Wilkins as the pilot finished sitting down. Caught off guard, it took Wilkins a moment to catch on, and he quietly slipped out of the chair, and stood beside the table.

"This isn't going to be easy," Naylor stated levelly. "I'll carry the smart gun, and the rest of you will have to split the ten mags. That gives me about seven hundred rounds, and each you about two extra mags each – three hundreds shots apiece. Everyone gets five grenades – even you Silvio."

"That won't last very long," Katie replied tersely.

"Could mean we end up in hand to hand combat with those things," Naylor stated quietly.

"Isn't there any more ammunition in the APC?" Suzie asked, gazing about at the others, hoping she remembered the looting of the APC wrongly.

"None, Suzie. There's none in there whatsoever," Silvio's gravely voice bemoaned, sounded dead serious for a change. With so little ammunition, the whole affair didn't sound even remotely fun anymore. "Damn it!" he fumed, slamming his fist into the metal table and denting the area where he struck it.

Previously, Zero Six Hundred Hours Dengor Base, Sublevel 3

He would have sole control and no one would be able to stop him. Once Dengor was under his finger, he could start spreading his control further and further once he had bred the xenomorphs in enough numbers to stop any attack. One by one, he could spread his power base until it all belonged to him. One day, he would reach earth - The main military stronghold against the alien menace - and take that planet as well.

The younger Longman smiled in delight as he watched the remote cameras positioned on the alien moon. The xenomorphs had finally completed their hive as he had specified, fortifying it against the marines, for when they would attempt to return. All he needed now was a hive brain – a singular xenomorph from which he could control all the others, rather than scatter his thoughts across a wide range of alien minds. He needed a xenomorphic brain that would allow him to complete his work on Dengor while the thing took care of the marines. He hovered over the transmitter and fiddled with the frequency to highlight just one alien. He knew what he could do and he moved his mouth over the microphone and spoke just one phrase - one soft, powerful phrase.

"Make a queen."


	8. Chapter 8

Eight Zero Seven Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Military Outpost

As Wilkins prepared the dropship by the bloody light of the rising sun, the other marines went about preparing their weapons and examining their gear.

Naylor poked through each marine's gear and double-checked their weapons. He tried to pretend he didn't care that the others were watching him to make sure he didn't screw up. He also tried to pretend he didn't care that he had to reacquaint himself to using a smart gun for the first time in ages. All he really cared about, he told himself, was taking out as many of the aliens as possible, and if that meant dying, he was ready for it.

Once he had finished checking all the gear and weapons, Naylor went over his own gear and the smart gun. As Wilkins stopped loading fuel to watch, Naylor field-stripped the gun within a matter of minutes, cleaned, oiled and inspected each part, and had it back together just as quickly. With the gun reassembled, Naylor slipped into his armor, assembled the pneumatic weapon mount to his armor, and strapped on the gun. Once he kicked the gun's computer to life, the weapon awoke with a loud-pitched whine and started tracking. The first thing the weapon aimed itself at was Silvio, with the barrel pausing to align itself with Silvio's lower extremities.

Everyone watched as Naylor practiced moving and aiming the bulky weapon. Though it moved with the grace of a cat on the pneumatic mount attached to Naylor's armor, every once in a while his grip slipped or the weapon didn't seem to pivot as fast as Naylor would like. Again and again, Naylor would start over, until the motion was as graceful as it was errorless.

As Naylor continued his drill, Wilkins stepped out from the cockpit of the dropship and stood at the top of the gantry stairs. "Well... I'm ready. I hope you lot are going to be ready for your long walk."

There was no verbal response, just a nod as Naylor continued practicing. Katie, stretching her calves behind Naylor, looked over at her leader. Only a little while ago, he was an emotional wreck. Now she doubted if he had any emotion whatsoever. She wanted him ready for this moment, but not this much, and she was worried about him. She was sure she was going to be the one keeping the closest eye on him.

Naylor was still practicing when the engines on the dropship roared to life. The marines quickly moved to each side of the titanic belly of the dropship and proceeded to strap themselves to the buckles dangling from the walls. Before Naylor could strap himself in properly, the dropship lurched into the air, and Naylor found himself skidding to the floor. The loader on the smart gun popped open as he collided with the floor, and the belt of ammunition slipped out, rolling across the floor. As the ship hurled forward, Naylor found himself rolling over and the knife he had slipped into his boot raked across his ankle, peeling off the top layer of skin. Naylor gritted his teeth and kept from making any noise as the dropship leveled off and began skimming across the alien moon's surface.

As things settled down, Naylor found an arm thrust down beside him. Looking up it, he saw the face of Mager, and grasped the marine's arm tightly. Naylor paused a moment, then bent around to retrieve the tail end of the loose belt of smart gun ammo before swiveling back and allowing Mager to haul him back towards the dropship's side wall.

"Thanks Mager." Naylor stated, his voice unusually calm. Stunned by Naylor's response, Mager only weakly replied, "No problem, sir."

Naylor composed himself as best he could and clipped himself to the wall with the rest of his squad. No one seeming willing to speak, and the trip passed quietly in the dropship's hold, the only noise the jangle of the straps and clank of the marine armor against the dropship's hull, and the load roar of the ship's engines.

Wilkins struggled with the drop-ship, fighting to keep the ship moving in a strait line, despite the winds blowing over the planet's dune-strewn surface. Occasional drafts caused the ship to lurch upwards or to one side or the other, as Wilkins battled to watch both the terrain and fuel meter at the same time. "Fuck me," Wilkins mumbled to himself after recovering at one point from a steep dive on the dropship's part. "This is more trouble than the day I had the squirts after that curry binge," he stated, trying to distract himself from worrying.

Suddenly the fuel alarm began to blare, and Wilkins gritted his teeth. He checked his altimeter and began carefully lowering the dropship, slowing the craft's forward descent as he did so. "I'd kill for a copilot about now," he muttered, fiddling with the ships complex controls as he battled the wind and prepared for a landing. He suddenly felt the ship drop several meters as the huge engines sputtered slightly. Firmly gripping the control stick he banged the fuel gauge with his free fist. "Don't start lying to me," he warned, "We should still have a few liters left."

The spluttering increased in frequency as Wilkins was forced to grab the control stick with both hands to keep control. Between sputters, he managed to turn on the intercom to the back of the ship. "Well guys, I can't take you any further. I doubt if I've even taken you sixty kilometers with the wind pounding us. Get ready for a landing." A hard one at that, he mused, as he fought with the control stick. Once again, the engines cut out, but this time they didn't start back up. Luckily, they were only a meter or two from the surface when the cut-out occurred. With a bone-jarring jolt, the dropship settled onto the sandy wastes, sinking deep enough to cover the ship's skids. Wilkins cursed the controls as he quickly thumbed the main engines off. He heard them give one last spurt, and then they died with a horrid-sounding backfire. "Everyone all right back there?" he queried into his helmet microphone.

There was moment of silence, and then Naylor's voice came back over Wilkins earpiece. "Lovely landing. We're okay. Get ready to drop the ramp so we can bolt."

"Make sure you come back safe," Wilkins stated as he thumbed the control to open the rear hatch. As he watched ramp camera as the marines exited the bay, he added, "God speed guys."

The harsh wind blowing after the rainstorm hit them in the face like a boxer's punch and forced them to pull down goggles over their eyes and cloth over their mouths and nose, just so they could breathe. Muddy red sand swirled in the fierce wind, dabbing each of the marine's armor and clothes with a red tint even before they had reached the bottom of the ramp. Unable to speak over the howling wind, Naylor used hand signals to direct his marines along the path he wanted to take.

Within a few minutes, the dropship disappeared into the hazy swirls of red dust. The sky was darkening as the blood-red sun was setting over the far horizon, and the marines continued to trudge on towards their target.

Zero Seven Thirty Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

The younger Longman watched with pride as his selected alien moved about feeding a strange mix of secreted fluids to one of the other alien drones. Though it had taken hours to see the first steps of the transformation, Longman had no doubt the alien was doing its job to ensure the host it was feeding was transforming into a queen. Once he was satisfied that the transformation was progressing without need of his interference, he turned away from the console.

Longman made his way to a recessed locker on the far side of the room, and keyed in the access code to open the sealed door. Once the panel slid aside, Longman reached into the recess and removed an odd headpiece from within. It was strongly reminiscent of an alien's skull, though the front part of it seemed to be hollowed out to allow it to be worn like a helmet. Numerous circuits and digital readouts dotted the surface of the black metal casing.

Holding the odd device under his arm, Longman motioned to Michaels. "Move to that control panel," Longman stated, pointing to a bank of powerless computers adjacent to the main console he had been working at. Michaels obeyed, and Longman walked the assistant through powering up the alternate console as he watched the readouts on the odd helmet he carried flickered to life. Once he was satisfied with the readouts, he gingerly brought the helmet up and gently set it on his head, strapping it under his chin. He fingered a small button on the helmet next to his right ear, and tensed as he felt the prick of a needle slip into the base of his neck. The pain quickly diminished as the needle injected a local anesthetic to the area. Michaels watched on in wonder as Longman suddenly closed his eyes as if in pain, and then slowly began to smile.

Unknown to Longman's assistant, the device had had burrowed a neural transmitter into Longman's brain, and the scientist felt his consciousness widen as the minds of the aliens began to merge and run with his own thoughts. Though he could consciously feel himself both apart and above the animalistic impulses of the xenomorph, at the same time he felt a strange closeness, as if holding their emotions in the palm of his hands.

Longman opened his eyes to notice he had cupped his hands in front of him, and his assistant held a puzzled look on his face. In the back of his mind, Longman could hear the screeches and urges of the xenomorph lick at his mind, as if fighting to break in. He smiled and flexed his own thoughts, bringing his own mind forth to beat back the barrage of savage impulses and coalesced them into organized, controlled thoughts.

"Professor Longman, are you alright?" Michaels asked.

Longman smiled a toothy, alien smile and hissed, "Yes, I'm fine."

The answered chilled Michaels, but he managed to ask, "What do I need to do now, sir…I-I mean, Professor Longman."

Longman idly walked over to a panel beside the recessed locker. He pressed a concealed button and watched as the panel slid up to reveal a coffin-sized recess in the wall. In the black light that filled the recess, the glossy body of an alien seemed to glow with unholy light. Michaels gasped and backed away in fear as the alien stood within the recess. It took the assistant a few moments to realize it wasn't moving.

"Don't be scared," Longman cooed, as he stepped up to the armored alien warrior. "He won't bite," Longman stated, and the alien slowly begin to move, first flexing its neck and head, opening its teeth-filled maw to expose the inner jaws within. The inner jaws slowly slipped forth, opening and closing, as if testing the air. "Unless I tell him to."

"Michaels, wait by the main console and watch the alien skull in the glass box," Longman stated as the alien reached forward to grab the walls of its coffin. Slowly, as if still sleepy, the alien stepped out of the recess, and gave a low, cat-like hiss. Longman looked over to Michaels, who nervously nodded and quickly obeyed. "We have two hours of safe use of this skull, and four hours before it completely decomposes. Whenever two hours pass or I tell you, press the green button to replace it, understand?"

"_O-o-okay_ Professor Longman." Micheals was silent a moment, then dared to ask, "Professor, do I need to track how many skulls we use, in case we get low?"

"No," Longman stated, watching the alien warrior move forward, "We don't need to worry about conserving resources. Now, I have work to do." Longman's own dark smile wormed its way across his face like a disease withering away flesh. The alien lowered itself to all fours and lashed its tail impatiently, as if awaiting Longman's orders. Quietly and smoothly, Longman turned and headed for the lab's main door, the alien beast following at the professor's heels like a loyal dog.

McGarrett sat in his office, staring at the screen as the aliens moved about like worker ants, putting the finishing touches on their hive. McGarrett did not bother to suppress a smile. Things were finally working now. Not only had Longman's assistant directions allowed the aliens to complete the hive, but he could see the first stages of a queen emerging among the aliens' ranks. It was a bonus he hadn't counted on, but it made him genuinely pleased.

_WhirrrClick._

The door to the general's office opened and McGarrett coolly turned his attention from the monitor to the door. He had given his aide specific orders not to be disturbed, and he was going to make whoever was interrupting him very sorry indeed …

That was when he noticed the young assistant from Longman's lab in the doorway, wearing an odd helmet that almost looked like an alien's head. But what troubled the general most was beside the assistant was one of the xenomorphs – hunched on all fours, its mouth open in a vicious snarl, it's tail held up over its back, and dripping with fresh blood.

"What the hell?" the general breathed, dropping the remote to the screen on his desk. It was then that the general could see in the room behind the assistant his own aide, writhing on the floor, clutching his throat as a pool of crimson blood pooled around him.

"What do you want?" The general stated as Longman took a step into the room. Slowly, the general reached for the drawer on his desk where he kept his spare pistol.

"What do I want?" Longman laughed, as the alien at his foot mimicked the bared teeth and menacing smile. The general fought to keep from shuddering, and quietly slid the drawer open.

"For starters," Longman stated, taking another step forward. The general carefully reached into the drawer, searching for the pistol. Within the space of a breath, he had found it and slowly wrapped his fingers around it. "For starters," Longman repeated, taking another step forward, "You can bring my dad back from the grave."

McGarrett froze, clenching the gun. "Your father?" he intoned.

Longman took another lazy step forward, now only a meter or so from the general's desk. "You know, strait-laced old man, dressed in white, slicked-back hair with a recent bullet wound through his head?" Longman's voice rose at the end, and McGarrett visibly flinched at the last words. The general quietly pulled the gun from the drawer, careful to keep it hidden from Longman's sight. Longman nodded an affirmative to the general's question about his parentage, and then suddenly cocked his head, as if he just realized something.

"But you can't, can you?" Longman asked forlornly. The alien, still at Longman's heels, tensed. McGarrett swallowed, and flicked the safety off the gun with his thumb.

Longman's face suddenly twisted in rage, as he spat, "But you can't bring him back can you? So why don't you go meet him in hell?"

McGarrett pushed back from the table as he raised the gun to fire. But even before he could completely bring the gun up, Longman's alien pet was in the air, leaping over the desk at McGarrett. Its tail raked across McGarrett's weapon hand, severing the hand from the wrist with a single, clean stroke. The rest of the alien landed squarely on McGarrett, sending the chair sprawling backwards in a tangle of limbs.

McGarrett screamed twice as Longman watched the pudgy's mans legs squirm in the air behind the desk. The black-boned claws and tail of Longman's pet lashed violently against the body on the other side of the table. In only a few moments, it was over with, and Longman's alien rose from behind the desk, its claws and tail drenched with red ichor and its jaws a bloody mix of alien saliva and brain matter from general McGarrett.

As the alien looked at Longman, awaiting more orders, the professor knew he was finally in charge.

Zero Nine Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Topside Level 1

Taking charge had not gone as well as Longman would have liked. He wandered about the death filled conference room, strewn with the bodies of the lesser military officers who had refused to bow to his dictates. He stepped on corpses and littered body parts, brooding at his pet's handiwork. He reached the far side of the room and turned to look at the carnage where general McGarrett would have been seated. It stank. Blood splattered the walls and the oak table, and nothing but mauled bodies stared up at him. The only sound that broke the silence in the room was the alien's strange wheezing. "Rest my sweet, you still have work to do."

Longman's mental command reached the alien only split seconds after he thought it, and without a moment's delay the alien curled into a ball amidst the bleeding corpses and lay as peaceful as the surrounding dead.

Longman picked up the conference room's control remote from his pocket, and pressed the command button that revealed the concealed control console on the left-hand section of the room. He turned to the console behind him and wiped the blood and other bodily fluids from the area around the controls. After typing in a few commands, the multiple screens flickered into life and his assistant appeared on-screen. Michael's eyes widened as he obviously took in the carnage surrounding Longman. "Are you watching that skull as I requested?" Longman asked coldly.

Gathering his wits, Michaels replied, "Yes, Professor Longman." He paused, swallowing at the carnage Longman was sure he could see, and asked "Is everything okay sir?"

"Yes." Longman spat back. "At least it is now. It's been two hours, make sure you change out the current one. And make sure you keep watching that skull and don't doze off!"

"Yes sir."

Longman flicked a switch on the console, and was greeted by camera views of many parts of the complex. He could see that his "reserve" aliens were in place, as he had commanded. It had been fairly easy to trick his father into breeding a few "extra" xenomorphs in case supplies had reached a critically low level. He had waited a long time to be able to use his store, and now he was ready. With a single thought, his minions swept into action. Guards stationed in the halls of the complex fell before they knew what hit them. In the armory, no less than seven xenomorphs assembled their own guard against any intruders. Finally, Longman watched as the black xenomorphic commandos overran the garage pool, driving out the technicians and slaying those who fought back or were too slow to retreat. Opposition was minimal, and though Longman noted the loss of one of his pets to an alert guard, he quickly suppressed any opposition. Longman smiled as he watched the agonized face of that guard vanish from the monitor screen in the wraps of a black, bony tail.

It had been a simple trick to modify one of the predator translators to use McGarrett's voice and order down the guard as well as have the majority of weapons locked back at the armory well before he had used his minions. Now that his xenomorphs had control of the key points in the base, he reached for the internal communication interface on the console. Depressing the main microphone control, he barked "Now hear this!" his voice softened, as he continued, "This is Professor Longman Junior, xenomorphic specialist. General McGarrett and his staff have been slain, leaving me in charge," he paused a moment to allow those in the base to gain a full realization of their situation. "Furthermore, you will currently find that xenomorphs have been placed at strategic points throughout this base. If you fail to comply with my wishes, you will find them – most inhospitable."

Longman paused, then added, "All personnel will retire to their general quarters and await instructions. Under no circumstances are any personnel to take up arms or attempt to leave the base. Those who disobey will answer with their deaths." As a last note, he concluded, "That is all." He turned from the console, and frowned at the corpses littering his new office. He turned back to the console and depressed the frequency for the internal staff on the lower levels. "I need the disposal team in conference room one. Please be quick."

He clicked off the microphone and turned back to the blood-splattered oak table in the center of the room. Kicking aside the mangled corpses of the military officers on the ground, he made his way over to McGarrett's chair. It was perhaps the only chair in the room not soaked with blood. After dabbing a few blood spots off the pseudo-leather covering, Longman sat down and surveyed the room. A slow smile crept over his face. "Perfect," he murmured to himself. "This is going perfectly."

Zero Ten Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Desert

The wind was growing so strong, Naylor wondered if they were making any progress at all. He stopped to get his bearings, and consulted a telemetry hand computer he normally kept stowed in his pack. In the dark, it was difficult to tell whether or not the wind was blowing them backwards over the dunes, or if the mountains of sand were just slowly being moved along by the wind that howled through them. Not a star could be seen above, and Naylor could hear the night sky rattle with thunder, and could occasionally see areas of the sky alight with red-tinted lightning.

"God knows how far we've walked already," Mager commented as he came up beside Naylor, talking from behind the kerchief that protected his nose and mouth. Naylor didn't react, as if he didn't hear him. "I can't even tell if we're walking in a straight line." When that didn't elicit a reaction, he stated, "We've got no way to make shelter. Either we run in, grab the fuel and get out, or we clear the building of xenos and take a vacation." Naylor glanced at Mager, but gave no reaction to hearing him. Though Naylor couldn't see it, Mager frowned, "Man, it's gonna be days!"

Naylor ignored Mager's last statement, and continued moving forward. As he did, the first few drops of rain began to fall, and Mager held up his arms in disgust. "Man, and now its going to rain!" He exclaimed. But with every bead of water that hit Naylor's head a little bit of his humanity returned with it. It seemed his unholy temper was cooling as the cold rain splashed across his brow, each drop making him about as human as a marine could be. His sanity was slowly but surely returning, but his lust for revenge was still burning deep inside his gut. With every step he knew the building became closer and closer, and so did the battle with destiny that would define their future.

It was unlikely they would all survive, and that didn't sit well with Naylor. All the times he pulled his marine's bacon out of the fire had been ruined, starting with the events of just six months ago. He wondered if his streak of luck had run out. _No,_ he reminded himself_. Marines aren't lucky – it's all skill and good instincts_. It was what he always told his marines, and had always tried to force himself to believe. He didn't survive because of luck, or owe his illustrious career to luck. It was all because he had worked for it, and knew what to do when it needed to be done. But since Drafe's death, Naylor felt that all his instincts were wrong. He simply didn't trust them. And all that left him was his skill – and his goal - revenge. He wondered if it was enough.

Zero Twelve Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base, Underground Level 5

The game room at the Dengor military base was almost uninhabited. At any given time, Farrell could count twenty to forty off-duty troops mulling about, but since Longman had taken control, few dared to oppose him and leave their room. Only six marines had dared to come to the room to get in a few games of nine-ball without Longman noticing. Private Wakowski, despite their situation, had complained of nothing to do in the base. However, it had been Private Farrell had organized getting the group to the recreation room. Under his guidance, the other five marines had brought together their skills to slip one over on the Professor.

"I don't believe we're being forced to take orders from some dick-in-the-wall," one of the marines, nicknamed Callsign, stated as he bent over the table, lining up his shot.

"I know what you're saying, man. It was bad enough under General McGarrett, now we've got some mad scientist mucking up the base with xenos," the marine named Wakowski stated, looking over Callsign's shot. Callsign flicked his wrist, and squarely struck the cue ball, sending it smashing into the other balls on the table with a resounding clank.

"Are you sure you got all the cameras and sound recorders disabled in here?" Wakowski asked Callsign, looking around the near-deserted room.

"I'm sure," Callsign stated, backing away from the table. "Longman's been using me to monitor nearby base transmissions, and internal communications." He replied. "Your shot, Ludwig," Callsign stated casually to the thin, bespectacled marine beside him.

Ludwig responded by shoving the bridge of his glasses against his forehead before taking up his pool cue to analyze his shot. "Must be nice to be so cozy with Mr. Insane," Wakowski stated to Callsign.

"You don't get smoked if you're important," Callsign shrugged.

"Well," Ludwig breathed, still calculating, "It's not like there's a lot we can do about it. Each of those xenomorphs has the strength of ten men…" Wakowski rolled his eyes. Ludwig had calculated the xenomorph's patrols and ascertained the creature's sensory range, allowing the marines to skirt them. However, he seemed to find the xenos a little too fascinating for the rest of the group's tastes, and they had endured endless details addressing their strengths and weaknesses. Wakowski let the words roll over him as Ludwig continued to talk, "and with Longman having placed them in strategic points within the base, if we even so much as breath a word of trying to kill him within his earshot he'll have us ripped apart!" With the last word, he made his shot, taking down two balls in rapid succession.

"Hey, everyone's unhappy, but there's nothing we can do about it right now," Private Farrell shrugged as he leaned on his pool cue. Beside him, privates Johnson, Collins and Taylor were just trying their best to concentrate on their game and block out the conversation, though they nodded as if listening.

"That's what you think." A steel-voiced shadow stated from the doorway. Ludwig scratched the tip of the cue ball at the sudden statement, sending the white ball careening into a side pocket.

All six of the marine's attention instantly switched from the game before them to the shadowy figure in the doorway. The figure then stepped into the light of the room, revealing the features of a hard-cut veteran. His hair was gray with age, and rough, near-white stubble protruded from his chin. His lips and cheeks were slightly puffy, and his right eye was pale white, with a long scar running over it. He looked tough, but it was clear that the man was aged, perhaps in his late forties.

"What do you think we can do then, old man?" Farrell replied, finding his voice first. He was a bit nervous, and having never met Longman, wondered if the man in the doorway might be the insane scientist they had been discussing – or one of his flunkies.

"Old man?" the new arrival queried, pausing less than two meters from the group. His voice sent shivers through the marines in the room every time he spoke. "Old man? I'll have you know I was ripping apart aliens and sad sacks of shit marines like you with my bare hands while you were crapping yourself in your diapers."

Farrell's interest was piqued, but his tone was still condescending as he spoke. "What's your opinion then?" He waited as he noticed the elder man frown, and that was when he saw the man's rank insignia, "Uh, sir."

"That's a little better." The old man stated, though his tone did not change. "I'm sure you remember that group of marines that came through here just a few days ago on a dropship, and then promptly left?"

"Yeah," broke in Callsign. "McGarrett's shock force. They were going to moon P-133, to the old marine base." He turned to others. "I found out from Longman they were supposed to be retrieving some alien specimens – some sort of super-space hunters. I gather something went wrong, and they've ended up trapped on the moon – which is infested with the same xenos running around here." Callsign turned to the old man. "But they gotta be dead by now."

The veteran laughed quietly as the others seemed to be listening to what he had to say. "No, no," he said thoughtfully, as if first to himself, then to the others, "No, from what I've gathered they're still alive, and they're causing a little more trouble than was originally anticipated."

"Huh?" asked Callsign.

"McGarrett and Longman sent them there to die. However, they're fighting back. Even as we speak, they're trying to recover fuel for their dropship to get back here," he paused, "And get revenge on Longman when they get back."

"You mean they're rebelling against Longman? Standing up on the proverbial pedestal and proclaiming 'We shall not lie down and take it!' ?" Farrell growled, almost laughing.

"Well, wouldn't you if they screwed you in the same way?" The veteran asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow and speaking with the same disrespect that Farrell showed him when their conversation first started. "And if...if...they succeed...How many of us will be willing to help them when they show up on our doorstep?" The man spoke as his gaze fell over the others in the room.

Farrell nodded knowingly, as the others seemed to contemplate disdainfully what the old man meant. Noting their expression, the old man turned on his heel and began to leave.

"Cheers Pops. You just gave me a lot to think about." Farrell called out, and the old man stopped in the doorway.

The voice of the elder man spoke quickly and sounded thirty years younger, as he replied "No problem...Farrell."

Before Farrell could stop him, the old man was gone. Having never remembered meeting him before, Farrell wondered how he knew his name. As the rest of the marines turned back to the game, Farrell cast one last glance out the door, smiled and whispered, "Thanks...Pops."


	9. Chapter 9

NineTwelve Hundred Hours Aboard the Dropship Crimson One on P-133

Wilkins sat in dead sleep in the dark cockpit of the dropship. His feet were propped up on the dash, an emergency blanket draped over him for comfort. The dropship's control panel softly hummed, keeping watch on the area around the ship. Wilkins had spent the last hour rigging up a primitive wind generator to keep the dropship's batteries from draining as he kept on minimal power to the ship. The wind howled against the glass on the dropship's canopy, and he was oblivious to his surroundings as he failed to hear the thump-thump of rain as it began to fall on the dropship.

None of the sounds within or around the ship awoke Wilkins from his sleep as the effects of the storm outside began to intensify. Rain began to beat like pounding fists on the ship's hull, and the wind howled even louder against the dropship's structure. Wilkins even failed to notice the sound of the exterior ramp opening, allowing the howling wind to race into the cargo bay of the dropship. The wind drowned out the sound of heavy footsteps as something large and heavy entered the cargo hold, which then paused long enough for the ramp to close. A crackling sound filtered in from below, but it was too low against the howl of the wind for Wilkins to hear it. A grating, clicking noise echoed from the area, and then a soft, metallic clang sounded on the gantry steps as something slowly made its way toward the cockpit.

_Wwhhhhhhhhhrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnggggggggg_.

The door to the cockpit whined open, but nothing appeared to step in. At this sound, Wilkins's eyes opened slightly, and he bent his head in the direction of the opening door. When he saw nothing but a faint shimmer in the door, his mind quickly awoke. Realizing the danger he was in, he cast the emergency blanket off him as he heard a loud, high-pitched click resound in the area of the shimmer. It sounded like metal being unsheathed. This was all the catalyst that Wilkins' brain needed at that point, and he threw himself out of chair and into the narrow aisle between the two seats. Just as he did, a single spear-like shaft impaled Wilkins's seat, the barbed head penetrating the steel back of the seat and stopping within an inch or two of shattering several gauges on the dropship's control panel.

Without really thinking about how dangerous it was, Wilkins leapt from his crouched position at the solidifying haze standing at the top step of the gantry. He slammed full-force into the materializing armored alien, feeling as if he had just smashed himself into one of the ship's bulkheads. Fortunately though, Wilkins struck with enough force that both he and the alien being tumbled backward down the gantry. Before the alien creature could recover, Wilkins quickly rolled off it and skidded into the cargo bay of the dropship.

He heard a horrifying roar behind him, and without pause, Wilkins was up and jabbing the controls to the dropship's landing ramp. As the green light winked on, Wilkins spun about to survey the danger behind him.

Wilkins turned just in time to see his enemy standing at the foot of the gantry. It clearly stood taller than Wilkins, and had mottled brownish-yellow skin. It wore a fishnet-like suit with a metal breastplate and armored greaves protecting its limbs. Wilkins stepped to the one side of the ramp controls as he heard the hydraulics begin to pump into action. As he continued to watch his opponent, he noticed a small rectangular camera-like object appear over its right shoulder. The alien creature flicked the fingers of its right hand over the armguard on its left forearm, and Wilkins heard the distinct sound of an energy build-up coming from the camera-like box on the creature's shoulder.

"**Shit**!" He yelled, just as the ramp opened enough to let the howling wind race into the ship's hold. Wilkins leapt to the floor as the wind howled over the alien creature, upsetting its aim just enough so that the resulting pulse of energy that slipped from the shoulder cannon slammed into the wall behind Wilkins. A shower of sparks and heat flashed from the armored surface, leaving a black gash in the armor.

As Wilkins hit the floor, he felt all of his breath leave his lungs, followed by a sudden tightness in his chest. Fighting against the strange pain, he rolled to his side to see the tall creature slowly stepping towards him. Wilkins tried to gulp, only to find himself unable to breathe, feeling as if his heart had stopped cold. As he gasped, he realized something was terribly wrong. He couldn't inhale. As the creature approached Wilkins threw himself against the floor trying as hard as he could to get himself to breathe again. Precious seconds passed and time seemed to slow even as Wilkins' vision began to dim, threatening to envelope him in blackness. He faintly noticed the creature flex its wrist to reveal a pair of serrated, razor-sharp claws, but he was quickly losing sight of everything around him. Wilkins told himself that he wasn't going to let himself go out like this. A large burning sensation was beginning to grow in his chest. It was like someone had started a blast furnace in there. Wilkins clenched both his fists into one tight ball and with his last ounce of strength he raised his fists into the air and brought them crashing down on his chest. A large rush of air expelled itself from his lungs and he could finally breathe again.

The creature's footsteps were almost on top of him, and he knew he didn't have much time left. He looked up to see the alien being towering over him, bringing up the wristblades to glint in the dim light of the cargo hold. Wilkins pretended to still be dazed, rolling his head from side to side looking for something he could use as a weapon. Then he saw it. The strange spear gun it had first used lay at the base of the gantry, ignored by the creature above him. He quietly swallowed, not trying to give up the façade of helplessness. He just had to get to it.

Just before it swung, Wilkins heard the creature's roar echo through the gantry. He had to time it just right. The claw hurtled down at Wilkins face at frightening speed. Though Wilkins reacted the instant it roared, he barely managed to back out of the creature's swipe, pushing against the thing with his legs to get more distance from it. He heard it growl in frustration as he clambered to his feet and ran to the gun. With a single motion, he picked the odd weapon up off the floor and spun to face his opponent in the cargo hold – only to find nothing there.

Wilkins quickly scanned the cargo area as he moved to take cover in the doorway of the medi-bay. He should at the very least be able to make out the blur he first saw when it had stood at the top of the gantry. But right now, he saw nothing. He waited, wondering if had fled.

The wind howled into the cargo bay, carrying red rain in with it as it tried to sweep the muddied sand up the incline of the ramp he had opened. Harnesses and chains strapped to the wall clanked in the wind and swayed in the dim light illuminating the cargo hold. Wilkins breathed heavily, looking for any sign of his opponent.

He saw the three red dots dance across the gantry entrance just in time. Ducking behind the wall plate beside him that led to the medi-bay, he just barely managed to miss being struck in the face by a large bolt of plasma. The explosion as it hit the armor plate beside him nearly blinded him, and he felt sparks from the deadly hit singe his scalp.

When Wilkins looked back into the cargo hold, the wind and rain betrayed his opponent's location. A thin, triple-barreled stream of light led like a path back to the far side of the cargo hold, and Wilkins aimed the strange harpoon-gun in its direction, and depressed the trigger.

His opponent must have been too sure of superior position, and let out a howl of rage as its image flickered into view. The camera-like cannon on its shoulder showered with sparks, and the enraged creature tore off the attached breastplate as arcs of lightning danced down the metal armor. For a moment, Wilkins had a sense of relief. The fight was much fairer now.

He didn't have time to gloat on his small victory as the enraged alien rushed forward. Blades nearly the length of Wilkins's forearms slid out at the alien's wrists, as it roared its displeasure at Wilkins. It was obviously trying to unnerve him, but Wilkins kept his cool and fired a shot at the creature's leg. The spear slammed home, ripping the creature off its feet and sending it sprawling backward until the harpoon head slammed into the metal wall and stopped, pinning the creature's leg to the wall.

The predator let out a howl of rage, and Wilkins silenced the roar with another harpoon shot that caught the creature right through the stomach area. Neon green blood flowed from both wounds and the creature reached down to grasp at the long spear shaft. Wilkins held the harpoon gun level at the creature as he slowly made his way over from the gantry to the enormous beast, now slumped against the wall. It uttered a guttural cry of defiance, and with a single swipe of its claw, cut the projecting length of the metal harpoon's staff off. The action sapped the creature of the last of its strength, for it arched against the pain caused by disturbing the harpoon, then slumped against the wall, giving off only a soft, insect-like clicking from behind its mask as Wilkins approached.

Wilkins trained the gun over the pred's head as it stared back at him, its facemask hiding its true feelings about its current predicament. The creature managed to feebly look up at Wilkins, and then, with a slow, deliberate motion, it pulled at the fasteners that held its facemask on. A few seconds later, as Wilkins watched in disgust and amazement, the predator revealed it hideous features. Black, stained strands of hair fell over the alien's face as it looked at Wilkins through eyes the color of blood. The huge mandibles that made up its lower jaw moved in rhythm to its slowing breath, and even as Wilkins watched it die, he saw it still gazed at him in defiance, unwilling to concede defeat.

"Choke on this," Wilkins stated, as he brought the harpoon gun within inches of the predator's face. Before it could react, Wilkins pulled the trigger. The force of the gun knocked Wilkins back a foot or so, and when he looked back to the predator, he could clearly see where the harpoon had entered through the creature's left eye and pinned the back of the head firmly to the wall. Glowing green blood oozed from the wound and the slack jaw. The lower mandibles quivered once, and then ceased to move. Wilkins knew it was finally dead.  
Wilkins collapsed with exhaustion as he had finally dealt the death blow to the creature. He hadn't ever encountered one of these things before - a Predator - a hunter, now foiled by the hunted. Wilkins had won, with minimal injuries. _Luck_ he thought to himself. _Pure luck._ He slipped into the medi-bay and took a swig of the pain-killing bourbon before dressing the burn to his scalp. He then slumped back against the gantry wall just outside the medical bay, looking back at the dead predator. "Better clean this up," he murmured to himself. He carefully looked around the cargo bay, and added. "Who knows what else is out there? I'm not going to sleep if more of those things are around here."

And that was how Qui-chi died.

Twelve Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Abandoned Military Base Alpha

Naylor gritted his teeth as trickles of rain ran down his face. Before him, the former marine base and now alien hive was visible through the blowing blood-red rain. It was almost unrecognizable since a good two-thirds of the compound was little more than a blast crater. Alien resin thrown clear of the predator self-destruct blast decorated the landscape around them, giving them plenty of cover to approach in. Through the swirling rain, Naylor could barely make out the gash in the wall where the APC had crashed through into the complex. It looked to be the only intact section of the compound left. Around them, a quagmire of bloody mud pooled about his and his marines feet, threatening to swallow them into its depths at any moment as they trudged closer to the compound. It had been the longest march he had ever walked – emotionally, not physically - and behind him he could hear his marines pausing to catch their breath. He let them rest just a minute or two before he called them forward. He didn't want to remain in the open too long, giving the aliens enough time to notice and prepare for them.

He ran their situation through his mind one last time. Three hundred rounds each, five grenades apiece and one smart gun with eight hundred rounds. Five marines, counting himself. There was no telling how many aliens were in the devastated building, but he was sure that it was more than he wanted it to be. If they were lucky - really, really lucky, there wouldn't be a xenomorph remaining in the base_. Don't count on luck_, he reminded himself, _or you'll find yourself out of it_.

Naylor's eyes scanned the remains of the compound. There had to be a lot of aliens, he noted. There had not been one drop of alien resin decorating the base when they had visited it a day ago and now he could not see a spot that was not covered. Despite the fact that a good portion of the compound had been destroyed, Naylor noted that the xenomorphs had built on a whole new addition attached to the old building. He could see tube-like valves made of the hard alien resin leading into the complex, but there were no aliens standing at the entrances, guarding them. He looked down to examine his hand computer, noting the pulsating dot that identified the APC. Looking back up, he studied the structure until he could identify the area where the APC must still be lying.

There was one thing that bothered Naylor, one thing he could not see. Despite all his observations of the base, he hadn't seen one xenomorph. It worried him. Had McGarrett recalled the alien creatures, putting them back into storage? No, some of the new sections of the xenomorph colony couldn't more than an hour old, he noted, as the blowing red sands had not yet imbedded themselves into sections of the secreted mass. Well, he couldn't wait here for them to come to him. It was better to strike before they got swarmed…

Stepping forward, Naylor raised his clenched fist into the air. The marines behind him took note, and without looking back, he flung his arm down to point at the looming building. "Let's rock," he roared, as his marines rushed forward in unison.

Mud flaked off their heels as they ran to the building through the bloody quagmire. Within a few yards of the building, the mud gave way to the concrete foundation of the compound, though it was fractured and mixed with bits of alien resin and blood-red mud. Just a yard from the APC's gash, Naylor motioned for Mager to release a volley of grenades into the opening. Mager did so quickly, stopping only a moment to fix his aim before launching two grenades through the gaping scar in the building's wall. The grenades exploded in an orange fireball, sending shards of debris and xenomorphic resin catapulting outside the building. Naylor felt the ground beneath him buckle slightly from the explosion, and heard the ear-deafening boom careen inside his helmet. It was satisfying accompanied by the shrieks and shouts of dying xenomorphs.

No sooner had the explosion faded that Naylor saw a rush of xenomorphs lurch from within the building. He slowed his forward rush to bring the smart gun level with his foes, and calmly depressed the trigger, watching the black-boned creatures explode in gouts of yellow-green acid, and fall lifelessly to the floor. As he continued forward, using short, controlled bursts to bring down each alien as it showed itself, he could hear his fellow marines behind him, echoing the thunder of his smart gun with the equally brief lapses of pulse fire.

As they made their way into the hive past the smoking bodies of the unsuccessful aliens, Naylor barely had time to note how different the interior appeared since the last time they had been within the compound.

"What a redecorating job," Silvio quipped as the marines made their way in, breaking into two teams covering the side arcs of fire as Naylor kept the middle clear. The number of aliens refused to diminish as they continued to leap and push toward the marines, their failure resulting in a spectacular firework-like explosion as the marines continue to rain death down on their opponents.

Mager took a moment in the lull of onrushing aliens to give Silvio a severe glare. "Shut up fool, and pay attention before you get us all killed!" But as soon as Mager turned back to excise an alien leaping at him, Silvio just couldn't help but exaggerate his facial expressions in a mocking mimicry of Mager's grim expression and tone. His exaggerated impression of Mager was cut short though when a large group of the xenomorphs emerged from the wall above the entry, and dropped down amidst the marines.

"**Shit**!" Suzie Q managed to yell, smashing one of the aliens in the jaw with butt of her pulse rifle in an attempt to bat one of the things away. The marines were forced to scatter as the aliens dove at the marines, clawing and slashing with their tails.

Limbs and torsos fell as the aliens were ripped apart by round after round of gun fire as Naylor turned the smart gun on the sudden interlopers. Mager managed to cover Naylor's rear as the grim sergeant made short work of the aliens that had broken into their middle rank. Still, the rest of the marines found themselves pushed away from each other as the hordes of aliens continued to appear from every crevasse within the structure.

"Where the hell did all these come from?" Mager shouted as he knocked one alien down and shot away its chest before it could stand back up.

"One guess," Naylor growled, kicking away an alien that got too close before turning to nail another in the cranium as it leapt for him. He easily sidestepped the thrashing body as it sailed past him and fell lifeless to the floor.

_One guess_, he told himself. Somehow, he was sure it wasn't the predators that had wiped out the marine outpost on this base. It had been deliberately abandoned – after some sort of accident. The predators were just a pest the military needed to dispose of to keep from interfering with their failed test.

"Here we go marines," Naylor stated, his face mutating into a state between anger and fear, as he continued to spit out volleys of smart gun rounds at the approaching aliens. "**Let's Paaaartttaaaaayyy**!"

Suzie Q had found herself isolated from the main group, and running low on ammo. She had gunned down three aliens already that had tried to sneak up behind her, and was desperately seeking some sight of Naylor or the others. She could hear the rapport of his smart gun as it intermittently cut down an alien with a hideous shriek. As she tried to make her way towards the sound of the gunfire, she stopped near the wall and pulled out her second emptied clip and flung it to the ground. As she dug the last clip out of her belt, she felt a strange sort of crawling sensation make its way up her leg. She tried ignoring it, but the itching feeling kept crawling higher and higher until she couldn't stand it any longer. Looking down, she saw a spider-like facehugger emerging from an egg she had brushed against, and it was preparing to crawl up her leg. "**Jesus Christ**!" she yelled, smacking it with the butt of her gun.

The creature was thrown from her leg, to land a few palsy meters away, landing on its feet like a cat. It took it only a moment to spin around and dart back in her direction. It never reached her however, as she dismantled it with a short burst from her pulse rifle.

She took a quick look around a moment later to notice that no more aliens were pursuing her. That was when she saw the APC. It had been righted and was almost encased in alien resin, the side door still wide open. She then drew in a sharp breath as she noticed facehugger after facehugger wiggling out of the APC's hold, scrambling around like odd ants in search of an easy meal.

That was when she noticed they were heading in her direction.

The aliens were coming in ones and twos, but from all angles now, and the marines were having a hard time protecting their backs. The xenomorphs were low in numbers, but the marines watched their ammo dip into dangerously low levels. Katie slowly shuffled backwards while keeping her rifle trained on the threat in front of her and firing as steadily as she could. She was forced to dodge aside as one of the aliens leaped at her, slashing with claws and tail. She managed to shower the passing alien with a precisely aimed burst, riddling the creature's abdomen with a series of fatal holes. The alien skidded past her, still thrashing when Katie stumbled over the slippery resin and fell backwards. Luckily, she managed to spin and catch herself, grasping onto a large oval object that had been just behind her. She composed herself and corrected her stance, and happened to look down at what had broken her fall. It was an egg!

"Err…, guys." She stated, carefully rising so not to disturb the sealed egg's shuffling contents. She noticed that the aliens were not advancing towards her.

"Guys." She repeated, slightly choking in desperation as the edges of the egg began to roll back. She could hear around her the gunfire slowing and subsiding as the others were obviously being herded into the same area.

"**Guys**!" she finally shouted as she saw something inside the open egg wiggle.

"**What**?!" Naylor shouted as he spun on his heels to look at her. He was greeted with the sight of the central room they had sought, the resin-covered APC in the middle. Surrounding it was a horde of eggs – dozens and dozens of free-standing ellipses that seemed to be made of sap-covered leather.

Katie swallowed and watched in fear as the long fingers of a facehugger curled over the edge of the egg open before her. Naylor glanced over the immensity of the room, and noticed that the aliens had draw back, flitting about the circular entrance to the main chamber uneasily. Naylor could see Mager and Silvio nearby, their hands and faces white as they gripped their pulse rifles, looking to Naylor for commands.

He was about to shout for his marines to unleash their fire on the eggs around him when he heard a heavy, laborious breathing echo from above. Glancing up, he watched as a gigantic, black armored beast slowly lowered itself from the upper tiers of the room.

Drool and other unspeakable cohesive liquids dropped from the armored beast as it lowered and rested on the APC like a massive black widow lowering itself from its web to gaze at what it had caught. From the huge flanged, shield-like fin atop the creature's head, an eyeless face lowered to smile at them with sickly jaws stripped of lips. It was clearly a creature of teeth and claws.

"What the fuck?" Mager breathed, instinctively stepping back in awe as the other marine's jaws dropped as the entity filled the room.

"Mommy's home," quipped Silvio, "I don't think she likes how we're playing with junior."

Naylor, lost in the immensity of the beast, smiled with delight at the very thought of the prospect of killing the queen of the hive. He licked his lips in anticipation and whispered quietly, but loud enough for the others to hear. "It's a queen." Naylor had been on enough hive raids to note that this queen was small - and probably very young.

The Queen stared down at the inferior forms beneath her. Her enhanced senses gave her a far better picture than any human's eyes ever could as she drank in the presence of the marines below her. She could sense their inferiority – soft flesh over weak bones, filled with harmless water. Their weapons infuriated her. Unarmed, one of her drones was easily a match for ten or more of their kind. In a moment, she sized up their worth and was ready to issue her commands. They were useless for anything other than breeding stock once divested of their arms. In her mind, she could feel a foreign voice warning her to destroy their weapons, but she paid it little heed. She had her own plans.

The queen broadcast her thoughts to her drones, sensing them react to her commands. All her muscles tensed as she continued to lay egg, after egg, after egg, her drones placed them around the room at her command

"Err…, Naylor." A slight sense of panic came from Katie's voice as she carefully backed away from the open egg before her. As if sniffing the air, the facehugger within extended two long tendrils in the air, searching for prey.

"Yeah?" Naylor whispered, standing in awe at the Queen that seemed to slowly dance before him. In a strange sort of way, as she slowly undulated about her egg-bearing throne, she evoked a feeling of dread majesty that entranced Naylor.

Mager gulped as he glanced around, noticing the drone working at the edges of the room, moving eggs about as they dropped from the queen's massive egg sac. "Call me paranoid, but I have a feeling that they're planning something!" Naylor didn't respond immediately, so Mager nudged him, "I have a feeling we should too!"

Naylor snapped out of his trance and turned around to analyze the situation. He noticed Katie backing away from a facehugger that was beginning to scuttle in her direction. "Good point. Okay... a rough game plan." He stopped talking and gazed briefly at his ammo counter. It read thirty-seven rounds remaining, and he still had and one belt remaining in his pack.

Naylor motioned to Mager and Silvio, "Take out the eggs first – can't have a hugger get his fanny ass on our face or we're finished." He then nodded at the handful of aliens moving around the edge of the room. "Aliens are obviously gonna try and stop us so just try and dodge them as best you can. Only shoot them if you have to, I'll take care of them wherever I can. When the eggs are gone take out the aliens. I got the big bitch, so anyone who can, cover me. Got it?"

The team nodded in agreement, and Naylor was the first to whip into action. He wheeled the smart gun on the facehugger racing after Katie, and blew it to smithereens. He ignored the queen's screech as the others let loose with their guns into the eggs throughout the room. With a roar, Katie launched two grenades into the APC itself, sending bits of egg and facehugger launching out the open door.

"God damn it Katie, don't blow the damn objective to hell," Naylor warned, moving towards the remains of the APC.

With Longman's voice suddenly silenced, the queen had complete control of her drones. At the telepathic command of the queen, the remaining drones leapt into action against the marines, trying to wrestle them to the ground and subdue them. But Naylor's marines were smart enough to keep their distance from the long arms of the black armored beasts, pumping them full of pulse shells as they attempted to swarm over the marines.

"Remember!" Naylor bellowed, yanking out the used clip from the smart gun and quick-loading his last magazine. "Short controlled bursts - and we'll be fine!"

Katie was frantically dodging as she twisted and rolled out of the alien's way. At one point she leapt over a large resin protrusion on the floor, flicking a grenade into the nearby basin filled with alien eggs. The floor heaved as she landed, and the air was suddenly filled with bits of egg leather and burning slime. After that, the alien press forced her into a recluse where she tore her pursuers apart with two quick bursts that ripped through several aliens at once. As the last alien pursuing her slumped lifeless to the floor, she unclipped her empty magazine and reached for a fresh clip. A sudden lance of pain seared through the calf of her left leg, causing her to drop the magazine. It was a black, barbed tail, and all too soon the owner dropped down in front of her. "**Shit**!" she mouthed as it bent forward, hissing at her. Swiveling the gun around, she shoved it against the alien's jaws, and heard several of its teeth crack as the butt slammed into the open jaws of the alien. The counterattack surprised the alien more than it harmed it, and it recoiled in uncertainty. Katie followed the rifle butt up with several kicks to the creature's thorax, sending it sprawling backwards, and giving her enough time to recover the magazine she had dropped. She had just slammed the magazine home when the alien lurched forward, hissing. Katie's gun thundered in response, catapulting the alien thing backward and away, jerking the barbed tail out of her calf, and showering her armor with acid.

Mager arrived just in time to help Katie pull off and cast aside the steaming sections of armor. Aliens continued to pour after them, but Mager kept them at bay with short bursts from his rifle while Katie made a make-shift bandage to cover the gouge in her left leg. In between attacks, Mager managed to help Katie to her feet. Katie was limping badly as her bleeding leg continued pumping blood into her makeshift bandage. She had trouble keeping Mager's pace, but was still able to pick off target after target. The eggs were no longer a problem, but the queen had forced several of the eggs to hatch, releasing a miniature hoard of face huggers in the huge cavern.

"I count six left," Katie called out to Mager, noting the sudden drop in the alien drone population.

Mager took a quick stock of his ammo, "I'm down to twenty-five rounds." He gritted his teeth as he let off another burst to dispatch an alien that had attempted to follow them. Katie barked a warning, and Mager ate dirt as he turned to see a face hugger lunge at him, barely skimming over his head. It landed a little over two meters from him and with a quick jerk turned about before scuttling back towards him. Mager fired a burst at another onrushing alien that leapt at him from the side, downing it, and then turned back to the scuttling face hugger. He squeezed the trigger and only to hear the sound of 'Click_ click click click_.'

He looked down at his ammo counter. "**Empty**?!** Now**?!** For Fuck's sake**!" He had no magazines left, so he held his rifle against his face as the thing leapt at him once again. The creature wrapped its long fingers around the gun, scratching and clawing to try and grab his face as the whip-like tail lashed about, trying to find purchase on his throat. Mager slammed his rifle down to the ground, crushing the facehugger beneath it. He heard the acid from the facehugger's broken body eat into the gun, but he continued to press until the creature stopped wriggling.

Katie finished her current magazine and started her last one by blowing the second to last facehugger apart. The larger aliens had retreated, though Naylor was ensuring as few as possible would be in any shape to return.


	10. Chapter 10

Ten Twelve Hundred Hours Moon P-133, Abandoned Military Base Alpha

Katie scoured the room for more threats and caught a glimpse of Suzy lying motionlessly in a nearby corner. She shouted her intentions to Mager, and then rushed towards Suzie. She was only a few meters from Suzie when an alien emerged from its cubbyhole in the resin wall beside her, and tackled Katie before she could react.

"**No**! **Get off me**!" She screamed at the alien, knowing it couldn't understand a word she was saying. The alien's horrid claws ripped at her bare flesh as she fought to get the beast away. It was a futile attempt. The alien was too strong and fast for her. She could not even bring the gun to bear because the alien had wrapped its bony, black tail about her arm, and held it out and away from any useful position. Katie tried to block the alien's claws with her armored and free wrist, but it didn't seem to do much good. Finally, the alien stopped its rending long enough to grasp her by each side of her temple. She banged away at the alien's armored exoskeleton to no avail as the creature brought its own eyeless skull close to hers. As her eyes widened in fear, the alien's jaws slowly parted, revealing the snapping inner jaws inside.

"Huuuuuuggggggsssss..." The alien was cut off mid hiss, and then lifelessly rolled to the side, with a helpful push from Katie. Looking around, Katie turned to see what happen to make the alien act so. She found Silvio squatting at her feet, the tip of his gun smoking from contact with acid.

"Th-thanks Silvio," she stated, looking over the alien. She still couldn't see the wound that had killed the beast.

"No problem girl." Silvio smiled, straightening.

"How did…how did you?" She asked, motioning to the alien's lifeless corpse as Silvio offered his hand to pick her up.

"I gave it an enema," He stated, holding his rifle upwards.

"Figures," she nodded.

Katie smiled briefly before remembering what she had been doing before being attacked. "**Suzie**!" she yelled, and glanced over to the corner to see the motionless Suzie still lying in the corner. Katie pulled away from Silvio, and ran to her, falling to her knees as she arrived by Suzie's side. Silvio watched her back, though the alien menace had certainly diminished to close to null.

"**Oh No**!" she murmured as she spotted a belly-side up face hugger curled not far from Suzie. Suzie remained motionless and almost lifeless on the floor; her cheeks covered with a thin layer of slime and her lips an unholy shade of blue. Her eyes were closed, but when Katie checked for life, she found them dilated.

"Suzy?" Katie queried, feeling herself panic. There was still no response. "**Suzie**!" Katie yelled, grabbing her friend by the collar and shaking her from side to side. It was hard to tell if she was even breathing, and Katie turned to trying to slapping her awake. After a couple of resounding blows, Suzy finally responded, moaning awfully and swallowing a large gulp of air, as if she hadn't breathed in ages. Katie leaned Suzie against the wall and watched intently as Suzie's senses started to clear. After a few tense moments, Suzie lazily rolled her head in Katie's direction and squinted as she tried to focus. "Katie?" she asked, the word coming out in coughs.

Katie sighed with relief and clasped her hands together as she smiled at Suzie. "Thank god you're still alive!"

Suzie let her head roll away, and gave a shuddering breath. "Not for much longer, babes." Suzy's voice was rough and a look of disappointment stretched across her face as she continued to struggle for air.

"What?" Katie asked, dreading the answer she knew had to be true.

"Facehugger," she stated, closing her eyes and swallowing hard. She rolled her head back to Katie, and struggled to take her friends hand. "I know it got me," she stated, even as Katie feebly tried to shake negatively. Katie reached out, took Suzie's fumbling hand, and forced herself to swallow hard. "If you don't kill me now it'll come out later. Then you'll all be in danger again," Katie, continued to shake her head in disbelieve. "You have to do it now," Suzie commanded.

"We'll get you back to Dengor," Katie countered. "Find a way to get it out-"

Katie could feel tears stinging her eyes as Suzie looked away. "You know there's only way it comes out," Suzie said with a sigh. Katie lost her grip on Suzie's hands and let them slip away. As she did, Suzie's trembling hands reached down and grasped her pulse rifle. She barely had the strength to pull it up closer to her, and as Katie tried to stifle her tears of anguish, Suzie turned back to look at her friend. "Do it," she stated, staring defiantly into Katie's eyes. "I could only ask a friend to do this."

"I can't," whispered Katie.

"If you don't I will."

Katie hesitated; looking down at the weapon in Suzie's outstretched hand. Grimacing, she took the weapon, watching Suzie's hand fall away. She brought the weapon about in her hands, and pointed it at the center of Suzie's chest. There was one last pause, as Katie looked into Suzie's tired eyes. "Goodbye, Suzie." She stated.

Suzie used the last of her strength to grasp the rifle, clenching her hands over Katie's. The weapon roared as it fired, tearing a gaping hole into Suzie's chest, and splattering blood onto Katie's armor as well. Suzie's lifeless body slumped away, and Katie pulled back, unable to look back at Suzie's mutilated corpse.

Silvio stood behind Katie, and she found herself staring directly at him. He gave her a quick hug in consolation, and then the two made their way back towards Naylor, who was holding the middle of the room with the APC, with Mager beside him.

The facehuggers were all gone and now Naylor had apparently driven off the rest of the xenomorphs from the main chamber. "Hey, it's great to see you rejoining the party." He stated. He took a second look back and noticed that Suzy wasn't with them. "Silvio, where's Suzy?"

The two continued forward until they were within a meter of Naylor. Silvio stated emotionlessly, "She's dead. Facehugger."

Naylor's mind suddenly reeled at the news. He should have noticed earlier that she wasn't with the group. Now another marine was dead. "**Shit**!" he yelled, swinging his smart gun about, "We're diminishing by the minute!" His anger rose as he spun about, and his smart gun locked onto the huge signature of the lone queen. As the gun beeped at the target acquisition, Naylor's eyes went up to the faceless skull of the queen, who continued her steady pace of laying more eggs. "I'm going for the Queen. Cover the room," he roared**.**

The remaining marines nodded simultaneously as Naylor marched towards the massive queen. As he approached, he heard the queen's hiss and caught the glimpse of alien carapace from within the corner of the room before an alien within shot out, racing forward on all fours. Calmly, Naylor directed the smart gun against it, mowing them down with precision gunfire. He stepped past the smoking and bleeding frame, continuing towards the queen.

She seemed as focused on him as he was on her as he approached the upright APC. With sure steps, he ascended the back of the resin-coated vehicle as the queen looked down upon him, hissing and swaying upon her egg sack as he approached. She suddenly lurched at him with her massive skull, but Naylor easily stepped to the side and brought the barrel of the smartgun against the left half of her jaw.

The Queen felt a slight twinge as the hot barrel came to rest against the side of her head. But before he could squeeze the trigger, she brought about one of her massive arms, and swept his feet out from under him. A hail of fire ran upward and away, catching the edge of her massive head-fin, and painfully splintering some of the tough exoskeleton away.

Naylor collapsed and rolled off the top of the APC, crashing to the ground below. He landed hard on his side on the uneven surface, and rolled over, trying to keep the pain from showing. He could hear the marines firing again – the queen's cries must have alerted the last few drones to return. Naylor rose slowly, his vision flashing over with white streaks of pain as he fought to stand back up. His suit had already sensed the injury, and was working to reduce the pain and stiffen the area to keep Naylor from moving them too much.

Silvio, Mager and Stevenson blasted oncoming aliens as the drones returned in droves to the main chamber. Stevenson was trying her best to keep her nerves after Suzie's death. Only her hatred of the aliens that had forced her to kill her friend kept her going, as she pumped burst after burst after the aliens forcing them to hide amid the resin structures they had built.

Mager had only 72 rounds left from Suzie's old rifle, and was just starting to sweat. They were fighting hard to kill the remaining aliens with the least amount of bullets, when without warning something struck Mager in the back and pinned him to the ground. He couldn't move, let alone turn over. He screamed for help from Silvio and Katie, who quickly turned to train their sights on the alien squatting on Mager's back. The alien was trying to rip through the armor to get at the soft flesh underneath. "It's too close!" Katie roared to Silvio, and the two marines rushed the alien. The alien looked up in time to see Silvio lurching at it, and brought about its tail to smash the marine across the chest, knocking him down. But the distraction left the alien open to Katie's attack, who batted the alien across the skull with her pulse rifle. The creature squealed and clutched its head as its cranium caved in from the repeated blows. Katie then pushed the creature off of Mager's back before the blood leaked down from the wound onto the helpless marine.

Gunfire sounded from Silvio's gun as Katie quickly hauled Mager up, and the two turned to see Silvio finished off the mortally wounded alien. The three marines quickly regrouped, and prepared to meet the remaining drones advancing towards them.

Silvio and Katie trained their sights on one of the beasts and pulled their triggers. '_Click click click click_.'

"**No**!" Silvio screamed and threw his rifle at one of the remaining aliens, who merely swatted the weapon aside. Beside Silvio, Mager's gun was also clicking empty. As the three watched, one of the approaching aliens bent down on all fours and brought its barbed tail up over its head.

Mager held his breath as the three watched the last three alien drones surrounded them. They hissed and screeched at the marines, as if taunting them. "Man, it was great knowing you guys," Silvio announced as he watched one of the aliens crouch for a spring. Mager and Katie held their guns like baseball bats, as Silvio held out his knife, waiting for the final attack. He waited, and he waited, but nothing. The aliens didn't spring.

"What the?" asked Mager, looking to the others. The aliens then began to shy away from the marines, hissing and snarling. After a moment, it was apparent they were backing away from the APC, and watching it at the same time.

The marines looked toward the spot the aliens were looking to, and spotted Naylor atop the APC, his Smart gun barrel held firmly under the bottom of the queen's jaw.

"Very good," Naylor hissed, glancing at the retreating drones. "You remember what this thing does."

"Now... keep your little friends away from mine while we just get what we came for." Naylor looked to the stunned marines, and motioned for them to get moving. It took them a moment to respond, but the marines finally started moving, quickly making their way to the APC's belly and entering.

The Queen snarled at Naylor as she issued her mental commands to the retreating drones. Naylor knew what she was probably planning, and smiling, he pressed upward against the underside of the queen's skull as he shook his head. "Now, now, now. Any more thoughts like that and I'm gonna have to pull this trigger, and you don't want your brains spread across the ceiling do you?"

"_Huuuggsssshh_." The creature growled, as if reconsidering her action. The drones continued to back out of the room, though Naylor kept one eye open for them.

"_Right_," Naylor cooed.

Mager poked his head out of the APC to look up at Naylor. "Hey, I don't know how, but these things must have found the armory. The whole APC is loaded with armor, pulse rifles, ammo and all kinds of weapons."

Naylor didn't take his eyes off the queen, though his eyebrow arced at the news. "Been doing some early Christmas shopping?" He queried the queen, who only gurgled a hiss in reply. "'Fraid you're gonna have to share," he smirked. Then, to the marines, he hollered, "Mager, get the fuel and have everyone dig out any extra ammo and medical gear you can find in there. Try to find some stimulants if possible. We're gonna need them for the walk back."

As Naylor gave his orders, the massive tail of the queen began to flick with ire. Slowly, it began to bend and arc towards the marine beneath her, subtly moving like a snake on the hunt.

"Oh no you don't!" Naylor bellowed to her, thumping the gun against her lower jaw until she got the message, and retracted her tail. "You even think about doing that again and I'll blow that ugly excuse for a brain right out of your exoskeleton. **You hear me**?"

The Queen's jaw gnashed quietly as she breathed out. Even to his untrained eye, Naylor could tell that she was getting nervous. Her tail continued to twitch in time to her labored breathing, and he could sense desperation befalling the enormous beast.

"Y'know, there's just one thing I don't get," Naylor stated, pushing the queen's head up a bit with the smartgun barrel to remind her he was in charge. "What's a nice bitch like you doing in a hive like this?"

"_Hu_ \- _hu_ \- _hu_ \- _ggssssss_..."

"That's what I thought," Naylor snapped back. "You know...," he continued, holding the barrel firmly, his finger wrapped as tightly as possible around the trigger. "I was here on a business trip." He paused, and then stated, "You know the sort of thing, bag a predator alive and take him back to home base," he stopped long enough to bring him face up to the side of her huge cranium, "but we got screwed! And now we're here for revenge! We just want to get off this rock and get the bastards who sent us here. But... You'd know that, 'cause you're on the side who gave us the screw, aren't you?" His smile broadened as heard the queen breathing in a raspy, almost frightened tone. "How does it feel to be screwed, bitch," Naylor spat, tightening his grip on the trigger, fighting himself to keep from squeezing the trigger and blowing her head off.

"Hey Naylor!" Mager shouted from below. Naylor turned to glance down, and saw the marines were loaded up. Mager had about fourteen canisters of fuel loaded onto a small hovering platform and about four canisters on a long metal pipe over his shoulder. "Stop chatting up the local slut and come on! We gotta get this back to the dropship – in one piece."

Naylor stepped back from the queen, keeping his gun trained on the center of her skull and watching for her massive, slowly swaying limbs. The shadows of drones appeared at the edges of the room, and Naylor kept his focus on the queen, whose eyeless skull seemed to stare straight at his heart, as if she were angry enough to rip it out with a single flex of one of her massive claws.

Naylor carefully clambered off of the APC, never letting his aim wander from the queen. "Katie, give me a couple magazines if you got 'em." He stated, holding out his hand.

Katie obliged, handing him a magazine and then swinging a bandoleer over his shoulder. As Naylor continued to watch the queen, he snapped the smartgun open, flicked out the empty clip and reloaded.

"My God, that was empty?" Katie gasped as Naylor closed the gun and it reloaded itself.

"Yep," Naylor replied, grabbing a cigarette with his free hand. Atop the APC, the queen lurched forward in unbelief, her jaws widening in rage, her breathing increasing in pace.

Naylor calmly lit a match on the topside of the smartgun and pressed it to the tip of the cigarette. When smoke began to puff from it, he dropped the match, and announced, "Run!"

The marines turned and bolted in the direction they had originally entered. As they did, the queen let out a piercing roar, and hordes of drones leapt from the floors and walls at the marines. Naylor stood his ground a moment longer, fully depressing the trigger of the smartgun, which was still aimed at the queen's skull. The huge beast screamed in agony as the shells tore through the head and neck, and within a few seconds the decapitated queen fell, her limbs still flailing blindly.

Silvio stood beside Mager as they slowly made their way forward, both of their guns rattling off shells as the remaining horde of aliens catapulted themselves against the marines. Katie guarded the sides, holding a pulse rifle in each hand and blasting any alien that tried to maneuver around from behind. "Fuck man!" Silvio shouted over the gunfire, "How many more you gonna invite to this dance?"

Naylor followed the rest of the marines, picking aliens off from the horde that advanced from the far side of the room. "Stevenson, you got any grenades?" He shouted, as he blasted an alien with the smartgun that got a little too close for comfort.

Without looking back at him she replied. "Yeah."

"Then give me your rifle!" he bellowed. Naylor caught the gun as Stevenson let it fly backwards to him. With a graceful motion, he brought the weapon over his shoulder, aimed at the seething mass of aliens roaring towards him, and squeezed the trigger to the grenade launcher.

"**Nothing**?!"

He wheeled to yell at Stevenson, "I thought you said you had grenades?"

She looked back at him and realized what he meant, "I never said I loaded them!"

Naylor gritted his teeth, "**Then chuck me your stinking grenades**!" She quickly tossed the grenades over her shoulder into the waiting arms of Naylor. "Okay! Get ready to run!" he yelled, loading the pulse rifle's grenades between smartgun bursts.

The marine's tensed, laying down a heavy line of fire before switching to new magazines. Naylor finished loading the grenades; shot down a few approaching aliens, and then arced the gun in the direction of the mass of approaching aliens. Six grenades whistled through the air as Naylor fired them in a rapid burst. A second later, they landed amidst the alien horde and exploded with an ear-deafening boom. The floor and ceiling rattled, knocking some of the alien resin loose as alien exoskeleton was torn asunder by the titanic blast. The force of the blast collapsed the passage behind them, sealing off the rest of the aliens from following up. As soon as the dust and fire faded behind them, Naylor turned to the situation ahead.

"Go!" he yelled, as four weapons opened up on the remaining aliens ahead of them. The barrage of fire cut a path through the screaming aliens, who broke ranks to avoid the deadly swath. Seeing the opening, the marines bolted forward, laying down covering fire as they fought their way through the black masses of aliens.

Clips of empty ammo cluttered the floor as the marines cut their way through the last ranks of the aliens, and finally emerged out into the dark land beyond the complex. Rain still lashed down from the sky, and the ground was a mire of bloody mud. As the marines stumbled out into the open, Naylor whirled back to the entrance and dropped another load of grenades just inside the doorway. The entrance shuddered as aliens raced to beat the collapse, and failed.

"That should hold them for a while," Naylor stated, when the dust settled and nothing moved.

"Finally, we've made it," Mager gasped, stumbling across the mud outside. He half set, half dropped the fuel canisters beside him.

Naylor checked his ammo and then removed the stimulant they had collected from the APC out of his pocket. He looked at it coolly, then at Mager. "Not yet Mager, take your stimulant. You're gonna need it for the walk."

"Oh come on," Mager pleaded, hoping for a few moments rest, but Naylor was having none of it.

"**No**! First we walk and then we rest," When Mager hesitated, his face twisted in exasperation, Naylor stated, "That's an order Mager!"

Naylor reached behind his neck and injected the stimulant into his spine. He felt the drug quickly take effect, sending a burst of energy flooding through his body. "Come on guys, we've got a lot of ground to cover." He waited, impatiently, for the others.

"Jeez," Silvio stated, looking at the drug. "I need this at home." He then reached behind his neck and injected himself. Before he knew it, he was up and jogging towards the drop-ship as Naylor eyed the others.

"Ready, Mager?" Stevenson asked, looked up at him, and then looking down at her stimulant.

"I guess so," Mager stated blandly. Then together they injected themselves and took up the fuel canisters, and quickly picked up pace with Silvio. Casting a last glance back towards the abandoned military base, Naylor followed his marines. This time, he had no intentions of leading them from the front, and instead kept a sharp eye on their backs.


	11. Chapter 11

Eleven Zero Fifteen Hundred Hours Moon P-133, aboard the Dropship Crimson One

Alone...He had been sitting, staring at the door for hours. Wilkins had lost all track of time as his eyes focused on the far dunes of muddy sand. A crimson blush had just begun to form on the horizon as the moon's sun slowly began to slip into the sky. His eyes were glazed over with a thin film from his lack of sleep, but under the current conditions, sleeping was out of the question. He had to stay awake – and keep hoping. He had been so mindlessly intent on the far dunes that he didn't hear the hull door slide open. The wind outside had gone quiet not too long ago, so there was no loud howl as the door opened to alert him of the interlopers. When the door slid shut with a bang a few moments later, however, he was instantly roused of his dazed state. Below, in the main hold, he could hear noises, footsteps and some inconsistent mumbling.

The footsteps droned closer and closer as Wilkins heard them approach up the stairs. Nervously, he slipped out of the command chair and pulled the fallen predator's spear gun up. He crouched at the top edge of the gantry that led up to the cockpit. The first sight any enemy would have of him would be only once they came up into his sights. Wrapping his fingers around the trigger to the alien weapon, he tensed and waited.

He nearly pulled the trigger as Naylor's face appeared when he stepped up the gantry. Wilkins whipped the weapon up and away from the marine to keep from shooting. Naylor was caught slightly by surprise, and an annoyed look crossed his face as he realized that he could have just been speared.

"Well," Naylor stated, regaining his composure, "Nice welcome. I'm glad to see you again too, man."

Wilkins swallowed sheepishly and put the speargun back down by his command seat. He stepped back from the gantry to let Naylor come up into the cockpit, and shakily rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand. Naylor gave him a comforting pat on the back, and Wilkins silently slipped back into the pilot's command seat.

"Hey, Naylor," came Mager's somewhat urgent call from below. "There's a dead predator in the hold. Looks like someone speared him."

As Mager had barked out his find, Naylor had leaned down to hear. After hearing it, he looked back to Wilkins, who was shook nervously. "Not a bad job," Naylor commented.

Wilkins waved off the compliment and got down to more serious matters. "Did you get the fuel?"

"Yeah, Mager's filling it up right now. Were there any others with the one you killed? Four of them escaped us before we got attacked by the xenos."

Wilkins turned white at the statement. If Naylor had a bucket, he could have filled it with Wilkins sweat in just a few seconds. "No," Wilkins breathed, "H-he was alone." Then he added, almost mumbling, "Thank God."

"All ready Naylor!" Came the long distance yell from the gantry.

Naylor gave Wilkins his knowing smile. "You heard him. Let's get this bucket up into the air and on its way to Dengor!" He stated as he strapped himself into the copilot's chair. "The quicker we get off this rock, the quicker we can all get some well-earned shuteye." Wilkins had a somewhat puzzled look on his face as Naylor continued, "Then I can give that general and his freak scientists what-for."

"Aren't you going to see to your men?" asked Wilkins.

"They can strap in good and tight by themselves," Naylor replied, finishing strapping himself in. He grabbed the copilot's helmet from where it lay on the cockpit's dashboard. He looked at it somewhat perplexedly before donning it and strapping it on.

"Do you know how to fly one of these things?" Wilkins asked.

"No," Naylor admitted. "But I learn real fast."

Wilkins sighed, and then started the pre-flight check as he prepared for take-off. Naylor watched him intently, soaking in as much as he could. "Okay, power: on," There was a loud whirr as the ship came to life, interior lights brightening as the exterior landing lights clicked to life. "Primary thrusters: engaged!" he announced, as a moment later the dropship's huge engines rose in a crescendo of ear-shattering power. Wilkins looked down to the main fuel gauges, made some adjustments as the whine of the engines altered to his command. Once he was satisfied, he grasped the command yoke in his right hand as his left wrapped around the throttle. "Let's get outta here," he commanded, pulling back on the command yoke as he wrenched the throttle forward.

The dropship rose and spun as the huge ship's engines dried the muddy sand below the ship and sent it up in huge swirls around the ship. Wilkins continued to pour on the power as he raised the nose of the dropship steeper and steeper, one eye on his surrounding as the other watched the fuel gauges with equal intensity. Naylor watched Wilkins at work, absorbing everything the pilot was doing and ready to help if the need arose. However, as felt himself forced by the blood-draining G's deeper and deeper into his seat, all he could see was the red sky above and the thrumming sound of the automated computer voice ticking off the altitude. He knew Wilkins was in full control of the ship, and wouldn't need his help.  
As black space began to replace the bloody red sky, Naylor felt the forces shoving him into his seat slacken, then slowly fall away. When all sensations came back to him and the ship's computer ceased to speak, Naylor looked to Wilkins. "We did it," the pilot cackled. "And we've got plenty of juice to arrive at Dengor."

Naylor nodded, unclipping himself from the copilot chair and removing the helmet, which he left drifting in the weightlessness. "Alright. We've got about seven hours before we arrive back at Dengor." He saw Wilkins's tired eyes and added, "We all need to get some sleep, you too. Just remember to set your alarm clock." He stated, with a half-crooked smile.

After Naylor had left the cockpit, Wilkins flopped back in his seat and let out a large breath. _'Finally, we're out of that hellhole!'_ He thought to himself. He unclipped his belt and set the autopilot. After double-checking the navigation maps, he set an alarm buzzer for thirty minutes out of Dengor. No need in oversleeping, he thought to himself. Clipping himself to one of the handholds in the cockpit's gantry, he laid himself out for a quick zero-G nap. Just as he dropped off to sleep he muttered "Out of the frying pan..."

Fifteen Thirty Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Underground Level 3

Farrell couldn't sleep. For hours he had lain in his bunk covered with a cold sweat. The words the old man said echoed in his mind like a form of torture that he couldn't quite work out. Farrell rolled over and looked at the clock. It was only about 3:30 PM.

"Wake up call at six! Damn Longman!" Farrell hated Longman's absurd demand the marines assemble for inspection so early in the morning, and he regretted just seeing the old geezer in the recreation room, let alone talking to him. He sat upon his bunk and stared at an old rust stain on the wall. "Even if those guys make it back here how in the hell do they expect to win?" He mumbled to himself.

The other marines in his dorms were assembled around a folding table, wasting the idle time with a game of cards. They seemed oddly oblivious that the insane scientist Longman and his demonic pets had overtaken the entire base.

His mind was racing with what would happen if McGarrett's strike force returned. If they could beat the odds on the far-away moon, surely they could put Longman in his place. But what if they didn't know about what was happening here? He dropped to the floor and made his way around to the end of the bunk bed. There, he quietly opened the locker and removed a large whiskey bottle from within. Shaking with anticipation and dread, he removed the cap and took a solid swig from the bottle. The hot, burning liquid trickled down his throat, causing him to gasp, but he felt the fire pour into his nerves, steadying them.

He quietly placed the bottle back into the locker, and retrieved his uniform. Dressing quickly, he made his way to the door of the barracks and quietly punched in the code that opened the door. Longman had changed all the codes to keep the marines locked away when he so desired, but Callsign had managed to find the combinations, and had passed it on to his closest friends, along with a warning – _stay out of sight_.

Alone, Farrell slipped into the hall, carefully dodging the security cameras in the hall. As he neared an intersection, he caught the gleam of the cranium of two aliens on guard. As quietly as he could, Farrell slipped back and slid down another hall. It would take a much longer time to get around, Farrell knew, but Ludwig had mapped out a path through the alien patrols Longman had set up. Farrell had memorized them coming and going from the game room, and quietly slipped down the halls towards his target.

He wandered down the dark corridors thinking about every possible outcome that could occur if he was to help the marines if they managed to get back. Hardly any were very plausible, and he knew the repercussions meant death for not only him, but probably for many more. However, if they did manage to pull it off, they would be free of Longman for good, and his prospects of living longer were much better. As Farrell walked past the entrance to another corridor, something caught his eye. There was a light down at the end of the hall, shining through one of the laboratory windows that filled this area of the base. Against his better judgment, he decided to go check it out.

As he neared the source of the light, he could faintly hear screaming from beyond the tempered glass. It was so hollow and soulless it sent chills down his spine every time he heard it. Gritting his teeth against the nerve-wracking cry, he finally made it to the window and looked in.

There was someone strapped to a metal table in the room, and it took Farrell a moment to recognize him. It was Wakowski, who was stripped down to his waist. The marine was writhing in pain on the table, thrashing against it violently. The man's head rocked from side to side as he moaned in pain. As Farrell watched in transfixed horror, he saw Wakowski's chest suddenly buckle, as if something were pushing against it from the inside. Wakowski suddenly let out a murderous cry, followed by several lesser screams of pain as his chest bulged and rattled, reddening as it did so. Within the space of a few heartbeats, it was over, and Farrell was barely able to keep from vomiting. Wakowski's chest exploded in gore like an erupting volcano, and from the cavity within emerged a slick, whitish worm-like creature. Its head was eyeless and lined with rows of miniature razor-sharp teeth. These it gnashed as it struggled to free itself of Wakowski's chest. Though it bore two tiny arms, they were too small and feeble to aid it in extracting it from the large hole in the marine's chest. Wakowski moaned one last time as the creature slid out of the chest cavity with a liquidly slurp, and then the marine's head slumped back against the table, his expressionless gaze staring up at the plain metal roof above. The just-birthed horror slid across Wakowski's corpse, and then it bent down to begin devouring the flesh of the slain marine.

Farrell recoiled in horror at what he had just seen. He glanced about to see if anyone had caught sight of him, but the hall was empty. Loping away from the awful scene, Farrell steeled himself. "That does it," he angrily muttered, the horrific scene still reeling in his mind, "I'm gonna help those guys shove these fucking aliens right up Longman's ass!"

Sixteen Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Underground Level 3

"Roll Call," Farrell stated, flicking the barracks lights to get the marine's attentions. Apparently, they had quit the card game and returned to their bunks. With nothing left to do, several of them had simply taken a nap. Marines groaned and rolled over, shouting at him to cut the lights.

"Farrell," Johnson asked, rubbing his eyes, "what gives? We ain't got guard duty." Johnson blinked, and then asked, "And what the hell are you doing in your underwear?"

Farrell looked down at his dress-downed self, unconcerned. He then stated, "We gotta talk."

"What the hell about?" Johnson asked, fumbling for his own pants.

"I…," he stopped, looking around at the pitiful marines groping about, either trying to wake up or stuffing pillows over their head in an effort to go back to sleep.

"What's the matter man? You seem..."

"What?" Farrell barked. A quizzical look engulfed Farrell's face as he continued to stare at Johnson.

"Well," the man mouthed, thinking, "distant? Dark? Depressed!" he shouted the last word, pointing at Farrell. "That's the word! Depressed!" He cocked his head slightly at Farrell, who seemed for the entire world jolted out of reality into some realm beyond. "What's going on?"

_Maybe this wasn't a good idea_, Farrell thought to himself. _They don't care._ Farrell stepped forward, paused and started to walk past Johnson. His anger at Wakowski's death had now shifted to doubt. _Longman had put that thing in him_, he thought to himself. _How easy would it be to do it the others?_ _To him?_ As he pondered the cost of rebelling, he patted the huge marine on the shoulder and spoke. "Nothing man," the darkness in his eyes seemed to vanish as he buried it. He looked around momentarily at the other marines as he realized he needed time to think and plan. Going off half-cocked would only get them killed. "I'll tell you later okay? Right now, I'm gonna get dressed."

"Good choice, man!" Johnson guffawed. He snickered, "we got a lot to do today," he stated sarcastically.

"Yeah," Farrell smiled, facing towards the door to the barrack. His mind tumbled as a plan began to form. "We do have a lot to do today."

Eighteen Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Underground Level 3

The rest of the marines had finally filtered out of the room for dinner, under the watchful eye of two of Longman's black-skinned drones, leaving Farrell with his thoughts. He had wanted to talk to Johnson, but the big brute of a man had left to feed his protesting stomach. Farrell wandered into his cold lifeless dorm and began searching for his uniform.

"Thought any more about what I said?"

Farrell wheeled round and fell back to his bunk startled. He stared into the dark corner and saw the old steely voiced veteran from the game room. It took a moment for Farrell to gather his wits before he dignified himself with an answer. "Jesus Christ old man! What are you trying to do? Scare the fuck outta me?"

"_Hmh_." The veteran seemed unconcerned, and then let his eyes drop to the floor. A moment later, he stood and handed Farrell the uniform he found. "Put your kit on," he stated in a low voice. As Farrell reached out and snagged the uniform away, the old man added, "I'd watch out for the stains in the crotch by the way." He cocked his head in sarcasm as he stated, "Don't you ever clean those?"

Farrell did not seem amused as he slipped into the pants "Yeah, yeah. Keep your nose outta my stuff, old man." Halfway into his shirt, Farrell asked, "What do you want now?"

"New info. The marines have made it off of the moon and are now on their way here."

Farrell stopped to poke his head out of the half-worn shirt. "What? You mean they made it?"

The old man nodded. "And on their way here." He repeated. Again, the old man cocked his head, as if assessing the trust he was putting into Farrell. "Question is; are you going to help them?"

Farrell finished slipping into the shirt. "Hell, yes," he whispered, sitting down on his bunk to finish dressing. He glanced over to the camera situated in the room, then noticed it was unplugged. He reckoned the old man had done it before slipping in, and he felt more confident speaking aloud. "I'm gonna help. But what are we going to be able to without weapons?" Before the old man could answer, Farrell also asked, "And what about the others? I need to sort out who I can trust. They may not want to put their asses on the line against these things." Finally, Farrell added, shaking a shoe at the old man "And what about that prick Longman?"

The old man sat on the bunk across from Farrell's, and lightly shoved the boot back down. "General McGarrett put a surprise package in the marine's dropship in case they got off the planet." Farrell's face curled into a long frown, but the old man continued, "Longman knows about it, and he intends to bring the marines to his doorstep," he paused, gave a slight cough, and then continued, "Longman needs them alive for now, so he intends to take them into custody."

The old man cocked his head slightly, then stated, "He's not dumb, and knows those marines would simply blow their way through any alien horde he sent to take them into custody. They'd be a bit more hesitant to blow away their fellow marines, so Longman will use them."

"That son of a bitch," Farrell fumed aloud.

"Hey! I'm old, not deaf," the old man growled. "There's no need to shout! Just get a hold of some marines you trust that are left. I've been watching you, and most of the barracks has been looking up to you. Make sure that you and your friends are the party that greets those marines and restrains them."

Farrell nodded, and the old man continued. "As you lead them into the base, make sure you don't tell them that you're there to help. Longman's cagey, and he might catch on if you did. Once you bring them to Longman, then the gig is up, and we can toast the bastard."

"Sounds like a pretty rough plan to me," Farrell stated. "You have any contingency plans for when these things go berserk with Longman gone?" he asked.

The old man nodded in acquiescence, "You handle Longman, I can take care of keeping these creatures under control," He replied.

Farrell cocked his head and asked as he caught onto the old man's last statement, "And what do you mean by, 'Tell all my friends that are left'?"

The veteran seemed slightly taken aback, and grimaced before answering in a low voice. "Well, you already know about Wakowski." Farrell nodded as the image of Wakowski's death welled up in his mind. There was a pause, then old man breathed, "Well, Ludwig has joined that rank as well."

Wakowski's death had been gruesome, but Farrell knew exactly the extent of its horror. He had seen it with his own eyes. Farrell could only imagine Ludwig's death, and it made him seethe with anger and grief for his friend. Farrell suddenly stood and stormed over to the wall, where he began punching the cold concrete with his fist, gritting his teeth as he did. "**God damn that bastard**!" he roared, sinking to the ground in frustration.

"Sorry for your loss." The veteran stated sardonically, not daring to look at Farrell. "But don't let it cloud your vision," the old man warned. "If Longman sees that hate, he'll know what you're planning. Hide that hate – until you're ready to unleash it." Unconsciously, the old man was flexing his hands, curling the fingers into tight fists and relaxing them as he talked.

Farrell looked down to his battered knuckles from where he had struck the wall. He had punched so hard he had left a bloody stain on the gray concrete, which he had smeared down the wall as he had slumped. "I don't know if I can do it," Farrell stated, as if defeated.

The old man rose and spun to face Farrell. "You have to," the old man seethed. "You are a soldier – a marine. You don't let your emotions keep your from doing your job."

Farrell's lip curled into a snarl, and he slowly rose. "Don't give me some piss-poor speech old man," Farrell warned. "Those were my friends that bastard had butchered."

"Then you owe it to them to _do your job_," the old man retaliated.

Farrell stood, his fists clenched, his anger welling. He wanted to storm out of the barrack, beat down an alien or two in the weapon room as he grabbed a vast armament of weapons and then hunt down Longman. But he knew he couldn't do it. Not alone. Even without Longman's control, the aliens would rip him to shreds before he got near a weapon. No, he had to play Longman's game. And that meant he had to keep his feelings hid.

"It won't be easy," Farrell stated, uncurling his fists and dimming his anger.

"No, it won't," the old man replied, "But if everything we did was easy, we wouldn't be marines." Then the old man turned and left Farrell's dorm.

Ninteen Hundred Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Topside Level 1

Longman sat in the quiet darkness of the conference room, sitting in the general's plush chair. The janitorial staff had done a splendid job of cleaning the room, and had even mended the furniture. The quiet, clean room helped him to take his mind off the loss of contact with the aliens on P-133. As a lone recessed light shown down on his chair, he casually leaned to the side to pet the alien hunched beside him. It crouched like a loyal pet at the scientist's side, unmoving and silent apart from a low hissing noise it made, like steam seeping from a broken pipe. Longman's hand absently stroked the smooth cranium of his pet, his mind beset by a thousand thoughts. The power he wielded now was immense, but he knew there was much more to be grabbed. But he needed time. Yet, at the same time, the wait was almost unbearable_. Just a little longer_, he thought to himself_. If the general's marines make it back, I can move a little quicker_. He tickled the alien under the jaw_. How nice it will be for them to supply me with extra transportation_, he thought. As he continued to stroke the alien's jaw, he felt a sticky drool drip onto his hand. Pulling it up to examine it, he frowned. _Damn beast_, he thought to himself, and then looked down to the alien. It had moved its head slightly, and seemed to be eyeing him.

Longman hadn't commanded it to move, and he stared dumbfounded at the eyeless face of the alien. As he looked on in astonishment, a sudden realization crept over him, and his mind flashed with anger. His assistant!

"Michaels, wake up," came Longman's annoyed voice. The young assistant, who had fallen asleep at the controls, awoke with a start at Longman's prod. He slowly sat back up, adjusting his glasses before realizing he had dozed off.

"I'm sorry Professor Longman, si-" he cut off the last word before finishing, and looked up at the unhappy Professor. "I've been up over thirty hours, I must have dozed off," he apologized.

"The skull has almost deteriorated," Longman stated, pointing to the glass case containing a refreshed xenomorph's skull. Victor realized Longman must have replaced it already. "Do you know what would have happened if it did?"

"Y-you would have lost control of the xenomorphs," Michaels stated apologetically. "I'm sorry Professor Longman, it won't happen again."

Longman watched the young assistant for several moments. Michaels was obviously speaking the truth about having been up so long, and the Professor knew he had overworked the young assistant. But he saw something else in the young man's eyes.

The young man had the same look in his eyes that Longman had before his father had passed away. He could see that the young man felt much more intelligent and useful than to merely watch over the xenomorph's skulls. More than that, he could see the ambition in the young man's eyes. The "what I would do if I was in charge" look that Michaels tried to hide from Longman.

"I understand," Longman stated. "You're right. I have pushed you too much," Longman conceded, to which Michaels sighed in relief. "And I can ensure you; I won't let it happen again."

Before Michaels could even utter his thanks, the alien sprang, knocking the young assistant from the chair. It wrapped its tail around the young man's legs, binding them and keeping the youth from being able to escape. Michaels railed against the creature with his fists, but it was useless against the steel-like carapace of the creature. With delicate precision, the creature cradled Michaels face with its hands, bringing forward the grinning skull until its eyeless gaze was level with its own. Slowly, it forced Michaels head down until its jaws were level with the young man's forehead. As Victor squirmed in fear, the alien seemed to smile, the razor-sharp teeth parting to reveal the inner jaws that quivered in readiness to strike.

Victor screamed as the inner jaws rushed forward, but the alien's jaws stopped mere millimeters from the youth's forehead. The alien released Michaels and stepped back to hover near Longman's side.

Longman stared down at the young assistant, still quivering on the floor, and spat, "Don't ever get delusions of taking my position, Michaels." He continued his warning, "If you ever let one of those skulls decompose fully, not only would the aliens kill me, they won't hesitate to kill you." At that Longman turned and started to leave, his "pet" following along. It took one last backward glance at the quivering form on the ground, as if reluctant to leave the former meal behind. "Get some rest Michaels," Longman stated as he approached the lab's door, "And remember what I said." With that, Longman left the room.

Twenty-One Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base Control Tower

"Have you got a lock on them yet?" Longman's anxious voice shown through his normally calm exterior as the technician before him fiddled with a host of controls. "**Well**?"

"Not yet, sir," The technician replied, continuing his adjustments, carefully couching his words. "They'll enter our transmitter range in 25 minutes then we can override their controls and guide them in."

Longman could hear the fear in the technician's voice. He liked it, he liked the power it gave him and how important it made him feel to be feared and respected. "Can't you just open a hatch and let all the air out?" He suddenly asked.

"Uh, no sir. If I, uh, did that, the ship would implode from the loss of pressure," the technician replied, sweating as he stated it. It was a lie, but Farrell had told him to get the marines to the surface alive…

"God damn it!" Longman swore, slamming his fist into the table beside the technician. Behind him, the tech heard Longman's pet hiss in equal dissatisfaction. "Alright then," the scientist conceded, "Get together a squad of marines to meet them at the drop site."

"Um, yes sir," the technician replied, trying to hide his joy. It was time to call Farrell. "Uh, sir, aren't the strike force marines armed?"

"Hmm?" Longman asked, and then realized what the technician was getting at, "All right, tell them to retrieve pulse rifles and one magazine of ammo each." He wagged his finger at the tech. "But no grenades. I don't want any shenanigans."

"Yes sir," the technician replied, reaching for the intercom's controls.

"And quit calling me sir. Call me Professor."

"Yes, professor."

Previously, Nineteen Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base, Underground Level 3

When Farrell had finished his proposal and laid out his plan, most of the marines simply sat quietly in their bunks or on their footlockers that made makeshift chairs. Several shook their heads, while others just seemed to stare into space.

"You're serious man?" Collin's stunned look matched the tone of his voice. Collins was another of Farrell's friends back from Earth. The two had graduated together and both had decided to join the marines. Though they had been sent to separate training facilities, the two had ended up with assignments at Dengor Base.

"You really want to do this man?" Johnson asked, his face almost pleading for Farrell to reconsider. "I mean there are four of us and god knows how many on that ship. We ain't gonna have enough to face up all of Longman's pets!"

"I know we're outnumbered," Farrell said, "But we aren't suck-ass soldiers either! We signed on as marines because we're supposed to be as tough as ten men each." That comment did not seem to inspire the others as they gave Farrell rather nasty looks. "Longman is gonna let us get some weapons even, so he doesn't suspect a thing. All we gotta do is take him out, and his pets will be sitting ducks – we just take over the controls. We ought to be able to take his butt out and his little bodyguard too, right?" This time he got some nods of approval. "So come on! What do you say?"

"Oh well," Taylor stated, looking down at the row of tiny metals on his uniform. "I guess I better tell momma not to expect her little boy home this Christmas."

"You'll make it back," Farrell smiled, lightly jabbing Taylor. "And you'll have at least two more metals and half a dozen stories to go with them."

Johnson shook his head. It sounded like suicide, but somehow he knew that Longman would never allow the marines to willingly leave this base. Eventually, they would have to either fight or die. "If I get so much as scratched –"Johnson began, as he always did.

"You can gladly take my paycheck for the rest of my stint in the corps if you get hurt," Farrell stated, completing the old quote between the two. "I need you most of all, man."

"You're in bad shape if your plan hinges on him," Taylor stated.

"Well?" asked Farrell, "What about the rest of you?"

There were some muffled complaints, but the rest of the group finally fell into line. "We're in," they finally mumbled.

"God damn it," Farrell roared, smashing his fist on the pool table. "Are you guys marines or ladies?" He yelled, pointing at each of his fellow soldiers, "We don't do this half-assed. Either everyone is in 'til the end, or you're out. If we don't do this, we _die_."

There was a moment of silence, then Johnson stated quietly. "_Semper fi_."

There was a pause again, and then Taylor replied stoutly, "Semper fi."

It took a few moments, but finally the marines repeated the marine motto with the all the gusto of a squad determined to win. Farrell slowly saw it spread; they were in, do or die.

Zero Three Hundred Hours Dengor Military Base 8 Control Tower

"Sir." Piped Callsign, calling to Longman's private room. It had taken a few minutes to get the scientist to respond to his vidphone.

"What is it?" Longman questioned the marine. He looked somewhat bizarre in his silk pajamas and the strange, wire-covered elongated helmet.

"The Dropship Crimson One is in reentry now, sir. I navigating them to bring them into Bay D." The technician's voice had grown in confidence with the good news.

"Good," sneered Longman. He flipped a communications switch to the lab downstairs, and Michael's still-weary voice greeted him. "Get the testing chamber ready. I want a full complement of our special friends ready to properly greet our new guests, understood?" Michaels, stumbling, gave his acknowledgement, and Longman flipped off the communicator. "There's going to be a bloodbath in there tonight!" He chuckled to himself.

Previously, Zero Two-Forty-Five Hours Dropship Crimson One approaching Dengor

Naylor awoke with a jolt as he felt his body strike the floor. It took him a moment to awaken and remember where he was. Gravity was back – they were entering the gravity well of Dengor. Carefully, Naylor made his way up to the cockpit. The other marines were awake and watched Naylor stalk to the cockpit.

"**Wilkins**!" Naylor called as he ascended the gantry. "What's our status?" He came into the cockpit to see Wilkins already seated, fiddling with the controls and banging at the gauges.

"We've been had," Wilkins stated, motioning for Naylor to take the copilot's seat. Naylor did so and let his eyes rove over the control panel. Several alarms were already buzzing in the cockpit, but nothing appeared wrong… the ship was powered, and slowly descending.

"I've turned off the autopilot, but something else has taken control of the ship," Wilkins explained.

"Damn McGarrett," Naylor snarled.

"Good news is they didn't cut the power to us," Wilkins stated, "It looks like whatever has control of us is bringing us in to the main docking platform."

Naylor blinked. "Maybe they don't know-"

Wilkins paused. "Should I make contact?"

"Give it a try," Naylor motioned, pointing to the comm.

Wilkins thumbed the comm on, and set the channel to the control tower's frequency. "Dengor Base this is _Crimson one_," Wilkins barked.

"_Crackle_…This is Dengor base, over," came the reply

"Uh, Dengor base - requesting clearance to land at primary landing pad," Wilkins stated uneasily, not sure exactly what to say.

"Copy _Crimson One_, you are being directed to docking bay D, over," crackled over the comm. "Your ship is being automatically brought in,"

"Understood Dengor base, request permission for manual landing," Wilkins stated.

There was a brief silence. "Negative _Crimson One_," was the reply. Wilkins quietly cursed. "Windstorms from north quadrant require automated landing sequence to remain active."

Wilkins looked at Naylor, who nodded. "There's no windstorms, is there?" Naylor stated.

Wilkins nodded in agreement. All of the ships sensors showed that though there were strong winds on the planet, they were the standard wind blasts the group had landed in the first time around. Wilkins turned the comm off and leaned back in the chair. Naylor paused, and then asked, "Is there any way to break free?"

Wilkins shook his head. "We'd have to shut down all the instruments – and the engine - to override."

Naylor thought a few more moments. "Can we bring the weapons online; somehow lock them onto the control rig? I know this thing has a few racks of missiles…"

Wilkins responded negatively. "The control tower has disarmed our weapon systems, and even if we could, it would take at least a minute to bring the missile racks to bear. If they didn't find some way to override us, the base has several AA guns – ones that can even track and shoot down missiles."

At that, Naylor slammed his fist into the dash. "Damn. He's thought about just about everything, hasn't he?"

"Naylor, they might not know you and your marines are on board. They may think it's just me."

"No," Naylor growled, his eyes hunting for the lights of Dengor's base far below. "McGarrett knows. He knew all along."

The cockpit was silent a few moments, and then Wilkins smiled. "Yeah, but I don't think he was counting on me…"

Naylor looked at Wilkins, a puzzled expression etched on his face. "What are you talking about?" Seeing Wilkins smile, Naylor asked, "Have you got a plan?"

"Do I," Wilkins replied, half questioning, half in bemusement.

Zero Three Thirty Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Docking Bay D.1

The dropship finally touched down on the steelcrete platform with a metallic click as the magnetic locks pulled the ship to pad. The dropship went quiet very quickly, leaving the howling wind the only sound echoing through the cold base. A few moments later, the heavy metal door to the base whirred open, and a half-score of marines in windsuits marched onto the open platform. Each borne a fully-loaded and armed pulse rifle, and they set up position on the dropship's rear ramp, out of arc of the dropship's disabled weaponry. The leader barked into his handset, and a moment later the dropship's rear ramp lowered. The sound of ten fully cocked pulse rifles being readied clicked over the howl of the wind as the marines stared at the ready into the dark hold of the dropship.

After a few moments, a lone figure dressed in pilot's fatigues slowly descended the ramp, his hands in the air. He had a kerchief over his mouth, and had down his visor so the sand in the howling wind wouldn't blind him. As the figure reached the bottom of the ramp, the leader of the marine squad loudly shouted over the wind for the figure to stop.

"Where is sergeant Naylor?" the lead marine called out over the wind.

"He didn't make it back," the pilot called back, almost shouting to be heard over the biting wind. "None of them did."

The marine looked around at the others for a moment, as a worried flash echoed across several faces. Motioning to the others, the head marine ordered his men to the foot of the dropship.

The lead marine made his way up to the pilot and yelled, "We have information that sergeant Naylor and his marines managed to escape P-133 intact."

The pilot was Wilkins, who kept his hands in the air. He shrugged and replied in an equally loud voice, "I'm afraid you were misinformed. Sergeant Naylor and his troops were ambushed by three surviving predators while we were refueling the ship. I managed to hide during the commotion. They took Naylor and the other marine's skulls as prizes," Wilkins continued. "I escaped after they left."

The marine's leader, Private Farrell, glowered at Wilkins. "I don't believe that," he said, not bothering to raise his voice. Wilkins strained, as if he didn't hear the comment. Farrell turned to the other marines. "Search the dropship – be careful, they may be armed." He looked back to Wilkins and deliberately stated aloud, "I want them alive if you find them."

Farrell's men searched the dropship, but to no avail. There was no trace of Naylor or his other marines. Disgusted, Farrell led the captured Wilkins back into the base, the rest of his men following behind. Though he couldn't hear their words over the wind, he knew this turn of events was a serious blow. They probably wouldn't get another chance to dethrone Longman, and if Naylor was truly dead, the blow to morale would likely turn all of his friends against any idea of overthrowing the Professor now.

Naylor watched from the dark shadows just off the platform's edge. The others lie against the rock beside him, doing their best to keep hidden as the violent winds whipped around them. As Naylor watched the marines return to the safety of the base, Mager slipped up beside Naylor and tapped the sergeant on his shoulder.

"Did you bury the chutes?" Naylor asked.

"Do you know how hard it is to dig through solid rock?" Mager asked. He then added, "I found the base's junk heap and hid them there. No one will find them."

"Good," Naylor stated. Wilkins plan was going better than he thought it would. When he and the others had made that leap from the dropship, he was sure that the winds would have ripped the parachutes to pieces, or have dashed them against the sharp rocks of the moon's surface. But Wilkins knew the base almost too well. On the flight out of Dengor, the dropship had passed low over a heavy metal patch that had interfered with the ship's communication's gear. Wilkins had noticed the ship was passing back in the same direction, and would pass over the patch on the way in, at no more than 40 meters height. Dropping out at that point not only hid the marines from the base's radar and visual sensors, but with a few bulk cargo magnets strapped to the marine's jump packs, they could resist the drag of the wind and be safely towed down to the moon's surface. Naylor was a bit surprised it had worked. Now, they just had to get into the base.

"Alright. We wait thirty minutes to lower everyone's guard, and then we move in," Naylor stated. "Katie, you pick the lock. Silvio, Mager – you guard our flanks. Keep an eye out for cameras and sensors."

"Yes sir," the marines unanimous replied. Naylor smiled inwardly. The general was about to get the surprise of his life…


	12. Chapter 12

Twelve Zero Four Hundred Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Topside Level 1, Board Room

At first, Longman didn't seem happy. He sat idly in the general's chair in the boardroom, gazing at Captain Wilkins. Flanking Longman was two of his pets, hunched on all fours, tails twitching angrily, with low hisses echoing from their black maws.

Finally, Longman spoke, diverting Wilkins's attention to the professor's dour visage. "How unfortunate," Longman stated, "yet rather ironic. The hunters once again the hunted."

Wilkins had given Longman the same story he had given Farrell. The base marine had confirmed that Naylor's marines hadn't been found aboard, and sounded almost disappointed not to have found them. _Bastard_, Longman thought to himself.

"Captain Wilkins, it's rather nice to see you again." Longman stated with a sardonic smile. "I'm rather glad General McGarrett's android didn't kill you." It took Wilkins a few moments to realize he had met Longman before. He had a hard time recognizing the young man with the strange, almost alien helmet on his head. The scientist had been one of the two who had accompanied the marines on the trip here.

"I'm sorry, Professor Longman," Wilkins stated haltingly, barely having caught the name when he was first brought in. "But I need to talk to General McGarrett." At that, Longman tensed, and Wilkins carefully looked about, "Where is he?"

"I'm afraid the General has had an… accident," Longman stated. Wilkins shuddered as the alien to one side of Longman flexed and hissed loudly. It faintly reminded Wilkins of a laugh, which chilled him even more. "I've taken over now – this base is under my absolute control." Longman stated soothingly, stroking the smooth cranium of the alien that had flexed. It quietly hunched back down, giving off a soft, steady hiss.

Wilkins fought the urge to reach for the pistol he had secreted under his suit. He had hoped he would have been able to get close enough to McGarrett to take a shot, but there was no chance of that now. He had hoped he might have the advantage when the guards had left their rifles behind in the outer room at Longman's insistence – with several aliens watching on to ensure compliance. However, with both the marines and the two aliens in the room under Longman's obvious control, he doubted he could get a shot off. He decided to wait – and maybe make an escape later. Sooner or later, Naylor and his team would be breaking in. He might be able to group up with them and…

A sudden realization hit him. Naylor and his group did not know McGarrett was dead. And they certainly didn't know about the aliens in the base…

Zero Four Twenty Hours Dengor Base Planet Exterior, Near Military Base 8

Silvio only complained once about having his skin scoured by the winds before Naylor's boot to his side shut him up. The rest of the group waited in silence, watching the landing pad for any activity.

"Not even a sentry," Mager noted after almost twenty minutes had passed.

"Cameras or sensors?" Naylor asked.

"There's a camera facing the door, and one on the top of the building staring at the dropship. We can bypass the one on top, but we'll have to disable the other." Katie stated.

"I'm sure they have plenty of cameras going down in these winds," Mager stated.

"Yeah, but they might get suspicious if it goes out now," Katie replied.

"We'll have to chance it," Naylor stated firmly. Silently, he motioned for his soldiers to move out. They quietly followed him; though Silvio paused long enough to shake his head before taking up the rear.

At Naylor's direction, the group crept up to the base's doorway, careful to remain out of sight of the camera fixed atop the base's exterior. Katie carefully slipped up to the camera over the doorway and prepared to disable it. She examined it for a few moments, then turned to Naylor and stated, "It's off!"

Naylor gave the fixed camera a quick glance. A small, red-colored light was affixed to the top of the camera to indicate when it was on. The light was unlit, and the camera did not move from its fixed position.

"Are you sure?" Naylor asked.

Katie nodded. Carefully, she crept up to the door and examined the main lock. Her fingers flew over the datapad as she entered the key code she had seen typed into it on their first trip. The door didn't open.

"They changed the code," she murmured, digging out her knife. Quietly, she pried the access panel open, revealing the internal wiring to the howling wind and blowing sand. As the rest watched on, Katie brought a variety of tools to bear as she worked at the mechanism. Within twenty seconds, her work was completed, and the door slowly slid open. No warning lights blared from inside and Katie looked towards Naylor, her smile hidden by the windsuit she wore.

Naylor was quickly studying the inside when Mager nudged him. "The camera," he warned, pointing to the device. Naylor's attention quickly diverted to the device as the red light atop it blinked to life and the camera begin to slowly start whirring.

"Through the door," Naylor ordered. The group didn't hesitate to obey, and was through in a flash. Katie came last, unhooking her gear from the door controls. As she slid in, the huge door slowly slid up and shut behind her.

"Do you think they saw us?" Mager asked, gazing down the base's near abandoned hall.

"Let's hope not," Naylor stated, his eyes scanning for more cameras and sensors. He motioned for the group to follow him.

"You don't think I triggered it by opening the door?" Katie asked.

Naylor shook his head no. Behind him, Mager suddenly cocked his head, and whispered, "Hey Naylor, there's no guards in here."

Naylor nodded. He had noticed it as well, as was now slowly inching down the hall. Suddenly, he lowered into crouch against the left wall, and motioned for the rest of the team to do likewise behind him. They instantly obeyed, weapons drawn and ready. Silvio carefully moved up until he was almost pressed against Naylor's back. He strained to see what Naylor was looking at. However, he heard it before he could see it. The dim lighting of the hall revealed nothing, but he could hear a faint hiss, almost like a pipe releasing steam, but too erratic. It was something living. It dawned on the others what was making the noise before Silvio realized what it was. He was the only one to say anything, though.

"What the hell are they doing here?" he asked.

No sooner had he completed the sentence that a black form seemed to fall from the ceiling, arcing toward Naylor. The group's response was immediate and swift; four barrels of pulse rifles cut the creature to ribbons before it had even fully landed. It popped and fell, the black limbs flailing as acid ate into the metal and concrete floor below them.

"Well, so much for surprise," Naylor sighed as he heard the hall fill with the shouts of enraged xenomorphs. "Everybody ready?"

The rest responded by taking a combat stance beside Naylor in the wide hall. The group moved forward with deliberate strides as the shouting din of the approaching aliens grew louder and louder. Within seconds, the battle was joined and in full force.

"We'll make our way to the ammunition depot, reload and make our way to McGarrett." Naylor shouted between bursts.

"Man, shouldn't we just pull out?" Silvio asked. An alien leapt at him, and the marine ducked. His gun followed the creatures leap, and once it was clear of him, he riddled it with a deadly burst of fire. It didn't get back up. "If the base is overrun, I say fuck McGarrett. Let's just get out of here!"

"We gotta find Wilkins," Naylor stated. "I'm not leaving him behind." Neither was he about to let McGarrett get away. Even if the base was overrun, he was going to make sure that fat bastard paid for setting him up. "Besides," he added, "If McGarrett still has the ops tower under control, he can keep us from escaping in the dropship."

"Damn it," Mager complained, shooting his last grenade into an advancing alien trio that had materialized in the darkened hallway behind them. "I'm beginning to hate this job more and more."

"Just don't get killed," Naylor stated, dropping an alien with a controlled burst into the thing's black head. Beside him, Katie moved forward with Naylor, dropping to her knees every few meters to take out an approaching alien. There weren't coming in an endless drove like they had on P-133, but the marines didn't have a large trove of ammo as well. Each of the marines had one extra clip of ammo or less, and it was a strain to keep from wasting ammo while felling their foes.

The group continued their advance through the base at Naylor's direction. Katie accessed an electronic guide at one of the base's intersection, reading off the location of both the ammo storage and the ops center, at Naylor's request. As the group headed deeper into the base, the alien attacks became less frequent, but more stealthy.

Naylor led the marines past the elevators that led to the deeper levels, taking the marines the long way to the stairs. The vehicle-sized elevators were too easy to ambush. Worse, he had seen vids of other marines trapped inside an elevator with a swarm of aliens with no way out - and their inevitable, deadly results.

Yet, as the group passed the elevators, one of the massive vehicle elevators opened – to reveal a host of cables and an empty shaft. The marines barely had time to wonder what had caused the doors to open when a swarm of black, insect-like aliens seethed out of the open shaft. There had to be at least twenty, crawling on the floor, up the walls and along the ceiling. The marines were forced to fall back into the smaller corridors, dropping aliens behind them as they were pushed away from the stairs. Mager was the first to find himself out of ammunition, and in his panic, he lashed against a sealed door on one side of the corridor.

"**Yaaaaaaa**!" Mager took a run up and rammed the door with every shred of his being, hoping that the lock would give way. It didn't move one jot, but he was rewarded with a large dent and a sore shoulder. He wasn't sure if he had dislocated it as he leaned against it.

"We're getting herded!" Silvio moaned, looking at Mager. "I've got less than fifteen rounds left!"

'_Wrrrrrrrrnnnnnngggggghhhhhh_' the door slid open, and Mager's unsuspecting body fell through with a thud. A figure stepped back from the inside – he was a marine, armed with a pulse rifle and a bandolier of ammunition draped over his shoulder. Despite the fact that Naylor and Silvio brought the barrels of their guns to face him, the marine shouted, "C'mon, let's get you out of here!"

Naylor looked down the hall to see the remaining aliens advancing hurriedly now towards their prey. "Marines, we are leaving!" Naylor shouted as he dived through the gap, quickly followed by the others. The new marine slapped the controls to shut the door, which slammed shut moments before the first alien threw itself against the metal door. Silvio unloaded the last of his ammunition into the door, and was rewarded with the deafening scream of an injured alien on the other side.

Naylor quickly stood, and the new marine offered the sergeant the bandolier of ammunition. The sergeant wasted no time slipping out several clips before passing it to Mager. After reloading his gun, Naylor looked up to see the new marine standing to one side, smiling, almost admiring Naylor.

As the door thrummed and dented with the alien's fury, the new marine glanced at the door and breathed, "Follow me."

Zero Four Forty-Five Hours Dengor Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

"What happened? Where are they?" Longman had moved to the lower lab, and he fumed with anger at young Michaels. The assistant's eyes scanned a host of cameras, many of them covered in static.

Longman already partly knew what had happened. He could sense the alien's actions and reactions as they fought their way through the barriers the marines had left behind. His patience with the marines' uncanny ability to escape at the last second was beginning to wear just a tad thin.

"I-I don't know sir!" Michaels stated nervously, wiping away sweat as he switched between cameras. He cursed under his breath as several of the camera's views remained dim. What a horrible time to find out that the base's electronics were falling apart. He wanted to alert the technician marine to start fixing the cameras – what was his name? Callsign, he thought. "I lost them after they went down that corridor."

"Someone's going to pay!" Longman snarled, turning to face his right hand pet. It looked up at him expectantly, drawing a long hiss. Longman looked deeply at the eyeless skull of his pet, his thoughts plunging deep into the creature's mind. "Kill any marines you come across," he murmured to the creature. It hissed at him eagerly, the tail lashing behind the creature expectantly, darting like a snake lunging at its prey. "Kill everything you see," he stated. Throughout the base, at Longman's command, every alien went into a killing rampage. Any human unlucky to be near the creatures was torn apart. Longman did not even seem to mind that his left-hand pet lunged at Michaels, dashing him from the controls. Longman ignored Michael's screams for help behind the blood-splattered console as he lost himself in the eyeless gaze before him. He lost himself in the alien hive mind, reveling in their destruction at anything that moved, as he stood unmoving.

Zero Five Hundred Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Underground Level 5

"Over here," Farrell stated, grabbing the edge of Naylor's uniform and pointing to a barracks door.

"We've got to get to the ops center," Naylor stated, shrugging the marine off.

"I've got allies," Farrell explained. When Naylor seemed hesitant, he urged, "Come on, I saved your asses out there, didn't I?"

Naylor gave a slight nod, and then Farrell moved over to the door and gave it an odd knock. A moment later, the massive door slid open, with Callsign standing at the controls. A tall, muscled marine stood in the middle of the doorway, armed with a Smart gun.

Farrell seemed unconcerned about the gun pointed in his direction, and stepped into the room. Naylor and the others followed, a little hesitantly. Once they were inside, Callsign sealed the door shut. "I wish Ludwig was here," he stated flatly, "We'd know for sure if were safe from the xeno's then."

Farrell turned to Naylor and made quick introductions. There were about twenty marines in the room, and they stiffly saluted to Naylor as they were introduced. Naylor was impressed – they were all armed, and seemed to be under Farrell's full command.

Once the introductions were over, Farrell clasped his hands together and began to let out the facts. "Listen, we know you came back here to cap General McGarrett for what he did to you on P-133, but everything has gone to hell here."

Naylor raised a mocking eyebrow and stated, "Oh, really?"

Farrell ignored the sarcasm and continued, "McGarrett's dead. One of the scientists – a guy named Longman Jr., has taken over the base."

"We think he snapped after the general killed his dad," Callsign stated.

"Anyway, the creep has a horde of the xenomorphs at his beck and call, and has got the whole base under his thumb."

"Except for you guys?" asked Naylor.

"Yeah," Farrell muttered. He tried to explain, "Look, a lot of the other marines were killed or are too scared to take a chance to oppose Longman. He's threatened to kill anyone who opposes him, and we all know how ready he is to kill." The other marines nodded and grunted. Naylor nodded, but Farrell sensed the marine did not approve of their cowardice. Inwardly, he felt the same way. They were all supposed to be fearless marines – afraid of nothing. But these xenomorphs… and even Longman – well, they took fear to a new height.

"Look, all I care about right now is one thing," explained Naylor. "Where the hell is he?"

"He stays holed up in the conference room on the surface level," Farrell stated.

"But there's also some labs in the lower basement he's often attending to," added Callsign. "I've heard him say a lot '_I'm going to the lab now'_," he said in a mock impression of Longman's arrogance, "But I don't know which one – or exactly where."

"Could we get access to a full map of the labs from somewhere near here?" asked Naylor.

"I've got copies," Callsign stated, handing a ream of printouts to Naylor. "I slipped those past Longman in case we needed them. Nobody is allowed down there except the scientists, so none of us knows what's there. Not only that, but I could only get the maps I could break the encryption on without Longman noticing."

"Where's the lab maps?" asked Naylor, thumbing through the papers.

"About half-way through," Callsign replied. "The bottom half is schematics of the wiring and layouts and such."

Katie helped Naylor quickly flip through the maps and identify the main level maps for the labs. She briefly glanced through the electrical schematics as Naylor studied the layout of the lab levels.

"Wait a minute," Naylor said, flicking through the maps, "This base has three top-side levels and nine underground levels, but the electrical schematics seem to indicate the wiring doesn't stop there and goes down even further," he stated to Katie.

"Likely the base's fusion reactor is beneath the ninth level," Katie replied. "But why no maps?" She glanced over the structural maps again for clues.

"Looks likes there's a bunch of titanium-lined storage cells on the bottom-most level," Katie commented. "That might be where the aliens had been kept in storage."

"What about this," Naylor asked, flashing a map to Katie. "I don't see a level notated on them - could they be our missing levels?"

"Let me check the schematics," she stated, rifling through the host of maps. "Let's see – O.35-A and D, O.36…" She shook her head, "I don't know Naylor. Whatever is down there has circuitry running all the way up to the communication towers. Not only that, it looks like it's got a triple back-up system and a separate ventilation system."

"That's probably where Longman controls the aliens from," Callsign stated, standing to look over Katie's shoulder at the map. "He says he can control the aliens from anywhere in the base and he's been making plans to ship the beasties out…"

Naylor nearly dropped the map. "That's why he didn't crash the dropship," he stated, in sudden realization. "That bastard wants to use it to ship them off-planet!"

Naylor stood and started to pace up and down the length of the room. "How far is it from here to there?"

"Four levels down on the far side of the complex," Katie stated, checking the map, "I'd say just over a klick of twisting, maze-like corridors."

"A full kilometer, huh?" Naylor grunted.

"We'd be forced into single file through most of the lab areas," Katie stated.

"We'll just have to have our wits about us, sergeant." Farrell stated, with a grin growing on his face.

"You got weapons?"

"We got everything from pistols to SADARs," the marine with the smartgun interrupted, "Damn aliens can't tell a pulse rifle from a smart gun," he smiled, holding up his own gun. "Longman shouldn't put so much trust in them watching us." Then to Naylor, he added, "Just take your pick."

Naylor grunted. "All of us running around in those lab halls would just be asking for trouble," Naylor stated. "I think we need to form up at least two groups – maybe three."

Farrell nodded. "I think I see where you're going with this. I and my men will take the conference room…"

Naylor shook his head. "You're with me." Naylor pointed to the tall marine, who stood at attention as Naylor addressed him. "You, Johnson," Naylor barked, taking a moment to squint at the marine's name on his uniform. "Take the rest of the marines and break them up into two groups." He handed Johnson the maps of the lab. "Have the first group take some heavy weapons – SADARs and grenade launchers should be good – and destroy the alien lab in the bottom level. If there's more aliens in storage, I don't want to give them a chance to get in the fight."

Johnson's jaw tensed and his muscles quivered slightly as he looked quizzically to Farrell for a moment. Farrell seemed dumbstruck, and Johnson turned his attention back to Naylor and nodded his understanding. Naylor seemed to ignore Farrell's growing irritation, and added, "I need your second group to destroy that control center – pulse rifles with grenades and smart guns should do the job. They can cover the first group until you split up."

"Farrell, we'll take pulse rifles," Naylor continued, directing his attention to the private, then to the rest of his group. "We'll go after the conference room. I'll take the front - Mager will cover the back. Farrell, you've got the left flank, Katie the right. Silvio – you'll be in the center, where I can keep my eyes on you."

Farrell suddenly snapped, "Don't come in here and suddenly start taking over man!" His face glossed red as he stated, "You don't even know the way!"

Naylor's reaction was instantaneous. He turned to the private and grabbed Farrell up by his lapels. Before anyone else could react, Naylor had picked the younger marine up and slammed his back against the wall. "I'll take the lead because I've done this before. If you've ever commanded a hive raid, then speak up!"

"Okay, okay. Just let go of me," Farrell retracted, freeing Naylor's hands from his uniform. "Just take it easy, man."

Naylor backed up slightly. "Don't get me wrong soldier," Naylor explained. He directed his comment not only at Farrell, but also at everyone around him. "Don't go into this glory-hunting," he preached, knowing full well that his anger and desire to kill this Longman was sweeping over him, "We work as a team, do what your sergeant says, and everyone comes out alive. Understood?"

The other marines nodded.

"Good. Toss us our guns and let's get ready!"

Zero Five Twenty Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Underground Level 9, Section M

Johnson had sent Bizmark and Croft ahead as scouts, checking each side corridor as the marines worked their way down the dim halls.

"Clear," Bizmark called to Croft.

"Nothing in here either." Croft replied softly.

"Room 9M.51!" Bizmark remarked loudly, entering the room on the left before Croft entered the next room on the right side. Croft curled back slightly from the sight inside. Several technicians lay on the floor, their bodies mauled and expressions of horror and terror etched on their still forms.

"We missed whatever happened in here," Croft stated aloud to Bizmark, quietly slipping back out. There was no response from the other room. "Err, Biz? Hello?" Croft spun around in the hall, looking for Bizmark. He was about to alert Johnson with his comm when he remembered Bizmark had said where he was going. "What did he say?" Croft thought for a moment, then glanced up at the letters painted in the corridor above him. "That's right," he remembered, "Room 9M.51!"

Croft entered and found the room completely dark. He paused at the entrance, holding his rifle in front of him. He could see someone bent over in the dark. It looked like Bizmark. "Uh, Biz?" Croft asked, "What are you doing?" as his hand scanned for the light switch. He let out a sigh of relief when he found it, and flicked it on.

_Click _

_Huggggggsssssssss_ The alien was beside him, just past the light switch on the side of the door. Biz's headless corpse was seated on the floor, collapsed forward. The head had fallen into Bizmark's lap, facing Croft and had a large puncture wound in the forehead. Both of Bizmark's lifeless eyes stared up at the gruesome hole in the forehead as both brain matter and blood slid down the lifeless skin.

"Oh shi..." Croft started, both trying to whirl to face the alien and speak into the comm at the same time. Croft's gun rattled to life and was swiftly followed by a tearing sound.

Further back in Corridor J.52 - A

"Jeez! Who let these things loose?" Markowitz, the lead marine of Johnson's group shouted, letting loose with a barrage of pulse gun fire. An alien fell from the blast, but another quickly took its place, racing towards the panicked marine.

"Who cares? Just shoot them!" Collins, Markowitz's fire mate yelled in reply, helping Markowitz take down the replacement.

Gun barrels from the troop of fourteen marines flared as the aliens were mowed down. Some of the creatures raced down the metal corridors as others clambered along the walls and even the ceilings, trying to overwhelm the marines in the thin corridors.

"Goddamn! Longman must be pissed!" Taylor yelled aloud as he covered the group's rear against a sudden onslaught of aliens.

"Move marines!" Johnson yelled, motioning for the marines to keep moving forward. "We can't get caught in this hall!"

"Markowitz, how many round you got left?" Collins shouted desperately, checking the dwindling gauge on his weapon. The other marines moved past the two as both Markowitz and Collins moved to help Taylor cover the rear.

"Not enough, let's put it that way!" Markowitz replied. He then pumped his grenade barrel and nodded at Collins. Collins did likewise, and with a muffled thump, the grenades flew through the air, zinging past Taylor's ears and collided with the rearmost aliens. The backdraft engulfed back up the corridor and the heat wave stopped just shy of the marine group. The aliens that weren't cinderized by the blast were thrown to the ground, dismembered and bleeding. Ahead, the marines turned their attention to clear the small force that attempted to stop the marine's advance.

"Jeez!" Johnson stated, wiped his sweaty brow and looked down the scorched corridor. It was clear. "God Dammit, don't do that again unless I give the okay!"

"Sure boss," Collins replied, with a bit of a smug grin.

Meanwhile, in Underground Level 4, corridor C.73 - F

"_Huggggsssss_" An alien dropped from the roof, landing beside Silvio. With a single swat of its taloned claws, it backswiped the dumbstruck marine, shoving him against Katie. Both of the marines tumbled to the ground in a heap, shouting.

Farrell cursed as he tried to command himself to fire. "Shoot, **shoot**!" he yelled, as his gun lit the corridor, attempting to spray the alien with bullets. Luckily, the burst only caught the alien in the shoulder, ripping away a hunk of exoskeleton and failing to spray any blood.

Naylor had spun about as soon as he heard the attack, and with a sweep of his arm, he smacked the alien across the cranium with his pulse rifle. The creature stumbled a few steps towards Mager, who nimbly sidestepped the stunned alien. Once it was clear of Mager, both Mager and Naylor laid the creature to waste with a burst of pulse fire.

"Be more careful next time," Naylor stated reproachfully to Farrell. "If you had hit that thing head on, it would've sprayed Silvio and Katie with acid blood."

"I-I'm sorry, man, I didn't realize…" Farrell stammered.

"Just watch your fire," Naylor soothed. "They're fast, but you gotta learn to get the drop on them if they get that close." Naylor saw Farrell's horrified expression as the thought of hand-to-hand combat with one of the aliens flashed through the young man's mind.

"C'mon," Naylor stated. "We don't have time to waste," he called as he helped Katie to her feet. Silvio stood, dusting himself off.

"How's my face?" Silvio asked, dabbing the light gashes the alien had slashed into his cheek and beside his left eye.

"Just as ugly as before," Naylor stated. Silvio frowned at Naylor, but the sergeant waved him off. "Let's get moving."

The group only had a little longer to go before they reached the steel door to the conference room. Naylor motioned for Farrell to take the one side of the door, while Katie brought up the other side. Mager continued to watch the hall behind them, and Naylor crouched in front of the door, with Silvio standing right behind him, gun on the ready.

Naylor motioned to Katie, who thumbed the control for the door. It slid open, revealing the dimly lit conference room. A figure moved in the shadows at the back end of the room, and ducked behind the chair at the far end. Naylor could see he was armed. Before Silvio could fire a burst into the room, Naylor called out. "We've got you covered – come out with your hands up!"

"Naylor?" A voice called from inside. Naylor instantly recognized it.

"Wilkins? Are you alone?"

Slowly, Wilkins came up from behind the chair, holding his arms up. He had a pistol in one hand. "Yeah, I'm alone," he stated.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Uh, I was looking for Professor Longman," he stated. Wilkins shook his head. "He's not here."

Farrell looked to Naylor. "He must be in the labs downstairs."

Naylor nodded. "Let's go find Johnson and the others."

Johnson's marines were moving slower now, watching the side doors as they advanced into the lab area of the complex. Some of the doors were ripped open revealing tables covered with destroyed experiments. Johnson was sweating – he had never seen such destruction by creatures whose only weapons were claws and strength. Twice they came across the remains of either lab assistants or janitors – the bodies were so mangled he couldn't tell which – but no aliens.

Collins nodded to Markowitz as they passed by one room. Like the others, the lab equipment within had been destroyed – glass beakers shattered across the main tables and electronic control panels ripped from the wall, leaving sparking wires to illuminate the room in bright, flickering flashes. A red haze lit the rest of the room – emergency lights kicked on by the destruction caused in the room.

Markowitz stopped at the door as Collins nudged his rifle in the direction of the table. It took him a moment to realize what Collins was trying to convey. In the other labs, the contents of the glass beakers and polymer containers had seeped and partially dried on the floor. In this room, several of the containers still leaked a transparent, slimy fluid slightly thicker than water.

"We're getting close to them," Collins noted just before Johnson slipped past them.

"C'mon," Johnson stated. "Quit gawking and keep your eyes peeled. If they're here we'd better be ready for them."

Collins slipped back into position, and Markowitz paused just long enough to take a second glance into the room. On the far side, he could make out a badly dented door barely illuminated by the sparking control panels and bathed in the base's emergency red lights. It looked like something had tried to get in, but had given up. Markowitz finally backed away from the room, but his eyes kept sliding back to it. How far away are they? And how many? He wondered.

"Croft, Bizmark, come in," Johnson called into his helmet's comlink. There was no answer after several seconds, and Johnson cursed under his breath. Callsign had modified the frequency of the helmets to keep Longman from being able to eavesdrop on their progress. For some reason, he hadn't gotten an update in about twenty minutes from either Croft or Bizmark.

Johnson stopped long enough to get his bearings. "Collins, Markowitz," he barked after a few seconds. Both men turned to look at him. "I haven't gotten a reply from Croft or Bizmark. I want you two to take some extra ammunition and go look for them. If you find them, tell them I'm going to paint their ass with my smart gun for not giving me an update."

"What if they're dead?" Collins asked in a low voice.

"Or we get jumped by the xenos?" Markowitz added.

Johnson's face was grim. "In any case, I need to know." He stated. "If you run across xenos, get back to me – and let me know your coming."

As Collins and Markowitz turned to leave, Johnson added. "And blowing the fuck out of the xenos with a grenade does not count as a proper message."

Markowitz gave a slight smile, though Collins only gave a sarcastic, one finger salute. Then the two marines departed down the hallway in search of Croft and Bizmark.

As soon as Markowitz and Collins were out of sight, Johnson turned to the marine beside him. "Taylor, take point. Callsign, take your group now and split up. You might as well head out after the ops center."

"We'll be splitting our firepower," Callsign pointed out. "There could be xenos nearby. You've seen what they did to the labs…"

"I know. I've only got two belts of ammo left myself. But if we get jumped up ahead, we might not get the chance to split up."

Callsign's face twisted in discomfort before he spoke. "What, you think Croft and Bizmark got jumped?" When Johnson didn't reply, he sputtered, "W-why did you send Collins and Markowitz ahead for if you-"

Johnson turned to Callsign. "Look, they were supposed to report in over five minutes ago. How often does something you set up go haywire?" He asked Callsign. When Callsign pulled his mouth closed in response, Johnson added. "We've got to know what's up ahead. One ambush would be all it would take to wipe us out. Besides, Collins and Markowitz know how to handle themselves. They pretty much got us out of that last scrap."

Callsign's eyes studied Johnson for several seconds before he replied. "I don't like it," he stated, shaking his head. "But I guess we've got to split up sometime." Callsign pulled his half of the marines off to prepare to make for the ops center. After checking his pulse rifle, he looked back to Johnson. "Good luck."

Johnson nodded. "Don't get yourself killed." He replied, reminding them both of Naylor's command. Callsign turned away and strode with his marines towards the ops center, not bothering to salute or say a word. Once he was out of Johnson's sight, the huge man took a deep breath and turned back to his own troops.

"How are we looking on ammo?" Johnson queried the nearest marine.

Each marine in turn blurted out their status. All the way around, most of the marines were down to their last magazine or two of ammo. Johnson redistributed the spare ammo some of the group had so that his lead and tailing marine had five full clips and a few grenades each. Most of the others ended up with two clips, and if they were lucky, a grenade. They still had the heavy weapons stowed, except for Johnson's smart gun.

"Alright, let's get a move on," he stated to the rest of the marines. Into his mike, he stated, "Markowitz, give me an update."

After nearly twenty minutes, Johnson's group had penetrated the lower level of labs on the ninth underground level. The number above the door read "Sublevel 9 Section M Room 51 Group C". The "9", "M" and "51" were painted in huge yellow letters the size of Johnson's head. The rest had been painted in much smaller script. The doors to the labs in this area had been sealed shut, and were mostly undisturbed except for some old rust. Johnson was getting the feeling they had gone too deep.

"Were at room 9M.45," Collins voice crackled into Johnson's helmet, "Everything's clear here, you can move up."

Johnson spoke his affirmation into the comm. Just as he passed the door of 9M.51 – C, the door slid open. Before Johnson could even whirl to look at what had caused the door to open, aliens began pouring out into the hall, swarming the marines. All Johnson could do was bellow a war cry as no less than three aliens pounced on him. Before he could even fire a burst from his smart gun, it was torn from its mount and he was bodily dragged to the floor. The other marines scattered in dismay, unable to train their weapons on the creatures lest they fire on their own comrades. The aliens fell on the shouting troops, heedless of the danger to themselves. The rapport of guns began to echo through the hall, but it was too late. The marines fell before the onslaught, and those who weren't outright killed fled, only to be chased down and slain.

"Collins! Collins! We need help!" Johnson called into the comm as the aliens tore at him. His eyes opened wide as the tail of one of the aliens attacking him arced forward, striking him in the throat. His cry for help turned to a bloody gargle as the aliens tore him apart.

From within the shadows of the room of 9M.51 – C, out of the sight of the massacre of the marines, Longman tossed aside the bloody helmet that had been Collins. Collins lifeless body lay beside him, the eyes wide with terror and the chest ripped wide. Not far to his side, Markowitz lay face down in a pool of blood that collected around his head. Nearby, the beheaded bodies of Croft and Bizmark lay against each other, smeared in their own blood.

In a mocking imitation of Collin's voice, Longman spoke into the helmet mike he still held as he watched the last thrashings of Johnson. "Sorry boss, I didn't catch that." He then lowered the modified translator from in front of the mike and tossed the helmet mike aside. Slipping the translator into his pocket, he started out of the room_. Such a handy device_, he thought to himself.

The alien to the one side of Longman hissed in a manner that almost resembled a laugh. Its hands were drenched red from its bloody work, and it watched its master with anticipation of what to do next.

Longman looked to the beast, and spoke, mainly to himself. "The marines must have split into two groups, my pet." He looked around briefly at the carnage. "Fools, don't they listen? Don't they know they don't stand a chance?"

Longman stepped into the hall, followed by his pets. "These men were seeking the lab. The others must be heading to the command tower." He paused, and the two aliens behind him stopped as well, awaiting his mental commands. "If they intended to escape, I could merely destroy the shuttle. A bit longer wait with you, my pets." He hissed looking behind him at the patiently waiting creatures, which hunched on all fours and hissed with pleasure at his attention. "But I believe they intend to break my communication with you as your master." The aliens seemed to nod at Longman's observations, and the dark hisses that echoed from the black assassins seem to indicate they had no desire to cease listening to their master.

Mentally, Longman directed the aliens that had ambushed the marines seeking the lab. _Backtrack_, he commanded. _Find the others and intercept them. They must not interfere_.

"And where are you, commander Naylor?" Longman questioned aloud. "Surely you didn't lead these men to their deaths and it's not like you or your men to back down from facing your superiors."

As he pondered, Longman strode toward his lab. Since he had let his own rage overcome him and allowed his assistant to be slain, he needed to keep track of the electronics that exerted control over the aliens. Beside, within the armored confines of the lab, he was quiet safe if Naylor's team was preparing to ambush him.

"Come, my pets," Longman cooed, and the two aliens followed along at his heels like well-trained and loyal dogs.


	13. Chapter 13

Thirteen Zero Five Forty Five Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 9, Section M

Farrell's mouth hung open in utter shock at the carnage around his feet. Naylor stood neatly in the middle of the mess, gazing into what appeared to be a vacant room. The other members of Naylor's team held their rifles nervously, watching for the possibility of the perpetrators of this foul crime to return at any moment. Wilkins was blanched, but he stood watching for aliens at the edge of the carnage.

"I-I can't believe they're all dead," Farrell stated, slack-jawed. He felt a sudden sickness descend on him and was forced to step into the side room Naylor had been looking. When Farrell saw the sight inside, he began retching.

Naylor bent down to examine Johnson's mangled corpse. The man's eyes were transfixed in horror, his mouth as wide as the wet wound to his throat.

"How – how did this happen," Farrell coughed from the side room. Katie was now beside him, comforting him, though her eyes still scanned for any xenos in the area.

"It was an ambush," Naylor stated dryly as he moved to another marine. Sliding aside the foul fluids sprayed about the area, Naylor removed a backpack from one of the mauled marines.

Farrell's fit of retching finally stopped after he had unloaded the contents of his stomach on the floor of the empty room. After wiping the last bit of vomit aside, he turned back toward the hall, Katie helping him along. "How do you know?" He asked Naylor quietly, as the sergeant pulled the backpack he had been struggling with free of a dead marine.

Naylor held up the backpack. "Their heavy weapons haven't been unpacked." He then pointed to the walls and ceilings. "And only a few stray bullets. They barely had time to shoot." Naylor looked around at the floor and noted, "I don't see any acid marks. I don't think they even managed to shoot one."

"Where did they come from?" asked Farrell, examining the walls and glancing at the hall's ceiling.

"From that room you were just in." Naylor replied, slipping on the bloody pack.

Farrell went white as he edged away from the room and hurriedly looked into it. That was when he noticed part of the ceiling in the room had been torn away. It must have been how they got into the room in the first place.

"What now?" Asked Mager.

"We find the lab and finish the job," Naylor spoke calmly. "They must have split up before they got ambushed here. Let's hope the other group knocks out the command center."

"Wait," Farrell stated, his senses coming back. "Maybe we should double-back and find them. They may be in trouble."

"We don't have time," Naylor stated, swallowing hard. "We've got to let them do their job. There wasn't any xenos waiting here for us, so Longman doesn't think anyone else is heading to the lab."

"He may have sent them after the others," Farrell pointed out. Naylor glared at Farrell for a second, and then turned to face down the hall towards the unchecked labs. Farrell went rigid. "Those are my friends," he stated icily. "I'm going after them."

Naylor did not turn to look at Farrell. "We're going after the lab." He stated sternly.

Farrell shook his head, chuckling angrily. "All you care about is bagging that prick Longman."

"He killed my best friend," Naylor exploded as he wheeled to face Farrell.

Farrell staggered slightly from the outburst, but held his ground. "And he's going to kill more of mine if I don't try to save them." Farrell turned away, looking back down the halls where the op center had to be. "You go blow the piss out of Longman. I care more about my _living_ friends."

Naylor took a step toward Farrell, his face contorted in rage, his hands clenched into rock-hard fists. _How dare he_, he thought. He caught sight of Katie standing beside Farrell, her face scowling with concern. Suddenly, he relented. _All you care about is your fucking objective._ Had he not told the colonel the same thing over six months ago?

"Silvio, Katie," Naylor stated as Farrell started down the hall. "You go with Farrell. Take Wilkins with you. Help out his friends in the op center. Mager, you're with me. We'll cover things on this end."

"Naylor," Katie breathed. "You can't – its suicide."

"Don't argue," Naylor retorted. "At the very least, you three blow the control tower that's got our dropship slaved to Longman's commands. If we can't get to Longman, you get Wilkins to fly the survivors out of here – to the base on the Predator moon at least."

"We're not leaving you," Katie stated as Farrell paused to look back. Silvio stayed very quiet.

"I'm not sure I like this idea," Mager stated nervously.

"Look," Naylor stated. "Someone's got to stop Longman somehow." He pointed to Farrell. "You and Wilkins both stated he's wearing some kind of strange helmet that's he probably using to control the aliens. All Mager and I have to do is take him out and use the helmet to put the aliens back to sleep. Or at least we've got to try. At the very least, we can distract him long enough for you to save your friends." He stated the last pointedly at Farrell.

"C'mon," Farrell nodded, grabbing Katie's arm. When she tried to wrench free, he stated, "He's right. Someone's got to try and stop Longman. If it's just the two of them, Longman might not see them as a threat until it's too late."

Katie did not go easily; it took both Farrell and Silvio to keep her from running to Naylor to try to stop him. She finally relented, but not before she cast a last warning his direction. "So help me Charles Naylor, you better not get yourself killed or I'll haul you back from the dead to kill you myself!"

Naylor only nodded quietly and waited until the four had disappeared before he turned around to start the descent to the lab. As he spun, he caught sight of Mager, sweating, looking longingly down the corridor where the other four had left.

"Nervous?" Naylor asked.

"Sir," Mager replied, "honestly I'd feel a lot better if we were all staying together."

Naylor shook his head no. Mager's voice almost seemed lost when he replied. "I was afraid you'd say that." Naylor strode ahead, taking point. Mager let out a deep sigh, looked forlornly back down the corridor the others had disappeared down, and then followed Naylor, keeping an eye out behind them as they continued down the metallic corridor.

Zero Six Thirty Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

"Someone had a fight here," Wilkins noted as he stepped around a large acid-burned gash in the floor.

"Blast marks on the wall," Katie stated, nodding at the black stains that coated the wall, ceiling and floors. "Someone used grenades."

"I don't see any bodies," Farrell stated nervously. "None of our guys must have bought it."

"The xenos usually drag their victims to their hive," Silvio quipped from beside Farrell. Katie, who had been watching the hall ahead and was standing just in front of Silvio, turned slightly as if pretending to look down the hall, bringing the butt of her rifle back forcefully into the marine's chest. If he hadn't been wearing armor, she would have snapped his ribs. Silvio slipped into silence.

"The aliens don't have a hive here," Wilkins stated sourly. "This is a marine base for crying out loud." Nervously, he quickly added, "Besides, they left the bodies mauled at the last attack."

Katie ignored the conversation and slowly prodded ahead. The hall looked like a firefight had walked up along its length. There were marks all over the walls from pulse gun fire, blast marks from grenades and a maze of acid-burned gashes in the walls and floor, as if someone had taken buckets of the alien's blood and liberally dashed them throughout the hall.

"Hey, what's that?" Farrell suddenly asked, gazing into a room on one side of the hall.

"Looks like a lab," Silvio stated flatly.

"No," Farrell growled. Then, pointing with his gun to the far wall of the room, he asked again, "What is that?"

Katie had drawn back to see what Farrell was talking about. She glanced into the room, squinting to make out what Farrell was talking about in the flickering light. "My God," she finally, breathed, shoving the others aside so she could slip in to check.

Katie carefully stepped into the room, and glanced to each side before she carefully strode over to the wall. A section, where a door had once been, was covered with a lumpy, resin-like material. At first, she had mistaken it for a badly beaten door. But it was alien resin – a small but solid wall of it.

"They're starting to build a hive," she intoned. She looked back to the others. "They're getting ready to start breeding."

"Does Longman know about this?" Silvio asked from the doorway.

Katie marched from the wall towards the door, and Silvio took a defensive step back. Halfway past the table in the room, though, she stopped. She slowly turned and stepped towards it, grasping a large broken clear polymer canister on the table. Bits of thin, watery slime dripped from it. _It was just the right size… _she realized with horror. Her gun at the ready, she threw the canister aside and scanned the room. Empty. It's got to be somewhere nearby, she thought to herself.

"C'mon," she stated, sliding out of the room and ahead of the others. "We need to get moving."

"What was that all about?" Wilkins asked as she slipped by. Katie made no reply, but her face was ashen and covered with cold sweat.

"Dunno," Silvio replied, falling in behind Katie. He quietly directed his comment to Farrell, who followed up next, followed by Wilkins. "I haven't seen her like this since she caught Drafe sending nude pictures of her to the other guys in the platoon." He patted his side pocket. "Still got mine in my wallet."

Zero Six Forty-Five Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

Naylor stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. He looked back to the huffing marine behind him. "Where are we Mager?"

Both the marines were lying flat on their bellies in an air duct somewhere between the walls of the complex. Naylor had taken off the heavy weapons pack and attached it to his foot so he could drag it along. He had decided on using the vent after avoiding a drone that had been waiting at the divider that led to the last series of labs in the lower levels. Below them, Naylor thought, should be the storage container warehouses where the aliens were likely kept. They had been traveling in the duct for a long time, and Naylor figured they should be somewhere near the secret, primary labs. The duct was too small for the aliens to fit in without breaking off some of their exoskeleton. As long as they did not run into a dead-end and the duct did not get any smaller, they should be able to avoid any guards Longman had placed around his lab.

Quietly, Mager fumbled into his trousers to retrieve a small hand-held computer. Katie had scanned Callsign's maps into it, and it also had a telemetry device to help them keep track of where they were. Mager punched the interface screen quickly as Naylor waited nervously.

"We're next to lab B." He furrowed his brow as he continued to examine the display. "Um…section O-25 from the looks of it." He finally said, happily.

"Can you tell which lab is likely to be Longman's?" Naylor asked. Mager's smile faded and his head drooped to look back at the display.

"It's not labeled," he stated wistfully.

Naylor gave Mager a playful kick to the head since he couldn't turn around to slap the marine. "Look for a lab with a lot of circuitry, running back up to the command tower if you can follow it."

"Oh, yeah," Mager stated, turning back to the display. After several long seconds where Naylor could only hear his quickened breaths and the computer responding to Mager's taps, Mager finally nodded to Naylor.

"Twenty meters down this duct and then to left," Mager pointed. "We should come out right on top of him."

"Great, let's get the welcome wagon ready" Naylor stated, and started crawling quietly forward.

Zero Seven Hundred Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Underground Level 2

Katie stopped short in the dark hall, her breath nearly seizing in her throat. Just ahead, her shoulder lamp illuminated a single marine slumped on the floor, a white, baglike beast wrapped about his face. The creature attached to the marine's face slowly pulsed with life, held on by six long, spindly legs that held themselves tightly against the side of the marine's face.

"Who is it," Farrell asked, stepping forward to examine the marine.

"Hold up," Katie breathed, looking around as her shoulder light continued to illuminate the stricken marine. Her breath was somewhat ragged and her eyes did not leave the visage of the marine before her. "There may be more of them."

"Oh my God," Wilkins breathed as Silvio shined his shoulder lamp down the rest of the hall.

Randomly spaced along the hall were the rest of the marines, in the same state as the first. The faint, almost inaudible sound of dead facehuggers – the ones the marines had killed in their last stand – could be heard as their acid blood ate through the floor.

"I-I can't believe it," Farrell stated, shoving past Katie. Silvio followed cautiously, looking for signs of a still living, unattached facehugger. Wilkins remained behind Katie, his gun held up as his eyes nervously scanned the hall.

As Farrell brushed past one of the marines, the tail of the facehugger attached to the marine slipped tighter, like a noose about its victim's neck. The marine's neck reddened slightly as his neck veins enlarged, attempting to drive blood and air through the captured marine's throat.

"What the hell are these things?" Farrell asked, not daring to prod one after the last one's reaction.

"Facehuggers," Silvio spat. When Farrell looked at him quizzically, he continued. "These aliens come from eggs, they hatch these things. They latch onto your face," at this Silvio made a motion as if his hand were leaping at his face, "Knocks you out cold, and in a few hours," Silvio paused, then started heaving his chest in a mockery of the motions he had seen in the past, "Baby alien comes bursting out of your chest-"

"Knock it off, Silvio," Katie warned. She had moved up right beside the marine, and gave him a jolt when she sounded off. When Silvio looked at her, he could tell she was angry and white enough to faint.

Suddenly remembering Suzie Q's fate, Silvio's face went blank. "I'm sorry," he stated slowly. "He…asked…" At Katie's withering glare, Silvio stopped trying to explain himself.

Farrell was not saying anything. He too had blanched, remembering Wakowski's death throes and imagining how Ludwig must have died. He couldn't leave them to this fate. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the name badge of one of the marines. Unbelieving, he knelt down to look.

"Callsign," he breathed, watching the pulsating mask that covered his friend's face. He reached down and grabbed his friend's cold, clammy hand. It was like touching a corpse. The thing on Callsign's face sensed Farrell's presence and tightened its grip, threatening to choke the marine. Not wishing his friend more harm, Farrell release his grip, and a moment later, the facehugger relaxed, though only ever so slightly.

Farrell looked back toward Katie and caught sight a plume of smoke from a freshly bored holed in the walkway, where a dead facehugger's blood had just eaten a hole through the floor.

"How long does it take these things to implant the babies?" Farrell asked.

"A few hours," Katie stated.

"Then we can-"

"No, we can't," Katie replied, her tone even. "I've seen vids where they've tried to remove this thing. It would rather die and kill the host than let go."

"Maybe those vids are just propaganda," Farrell stated, slowly rising. "Maybe they don't want anyone to try."

"I've seen it myself," Katie stated. "I know how you feel. If I thought it would work, believe me-"

The sound of Wilkins's gun cut Katie's sentence short. Each of the marine's gazes went to Wilkins, who was now moving up into the hall. "There's more coming," he stated, pointing down the hall where they had come from.

Katie half-turned so that her shoulder lamp shown down the corridor they had come from. Swarming along the floor was a mass of facehuggers – skittering along the floor and walls, leaping over each other in a mad frenzy to reach new prey. Worst of all, behind them alien drones were moving up, moving as if driving the facehuggers like a stampede of cattle.

"There's too many to stay and fight," Silvio stated, pausing long enough to fire a burst from his pulse rifle into the approaching mass. He heard the squelch of a facehugger, but it was followed by an angry roar from one of the drones.

Wilkins had now taken the lead with his pistol. He pointed down the hall away from the approaching horde. "C'mon, let's get out of here before we join the others!" Without waiting, he started down the open hall. Silvio bounded after him, leaping over the fallen bodies of the captured marines.

Farrell and Katie paused long enough to fire a sustained burst into the approaching mass. Facehuggers exploded with a sickening pop and drones roared in impotent anger as they were torn apart by the shells. Around them, the facehuggers already attached to marines tightened their grip on their prey, as if trying to threaten the marines to stop. Already one marine beside Farrell was beginning to thrash from the loss of oxygen.

"We can't help them," Katie finally stated to Farrell. "We've got to go!"

"We can't just leave them!" Farrell yelled, though he did take a step back with Katie.

Katie cocked the grenade launcher on her pulse rifle. "We're not," she stated grimly.

Farrell's eyes locked with Katie's for a moment. Then, with an angry yell, Farrell fell back, still unloading his pulse rifle into the rapidly approaching mass. Katie retreated with him, her pulse fire only slightly more controlled than his. The sounds of ricocheting shells and shattered exoskeleton rang through the hall, but the advancing horde did not relent. The white-headed black mass was almost atop the first marine in the hall now…

"Run," Katie yelled to Farrell, and despite his disgust, the marine obeyed. Katie waited only a second more to brace the gun on her thigh before she thumbed the trigger on the pulse rifle's grenade launcher. The alien mass was nearly dead center in the pack of fallen marines, and Katie's shot struck an alien drone in the mouth, shattering the creature's inner jaws before violently exploding. The grenade's explosion ripped the drone apart, flinging parts of his cranium and splinters of shrapnel into his friends. Katie unleashed another, aimed at the floor in the middle of the marine pile. Fire followed with the explosion, engulfing the entire section with the roar of flames and the cries of the dying aliens. To Katie's utter relief, she heard no cries from the burning marines.

After releasing the grenade, Katie fell back about twenty meters. The alien advance had faltered, but she could hear the survivors regrouping for another rush. Before they could get moving though, Katie pumped two grenades into the ceiling between her and her foes, aimed right at the support beams in a four-way divider. The grenades did their job, sending a pile of concrete and steel down to smother the passage.

Satisfied, she raced down the hall to join back up with Wilkins and the others.

Zero Seven Hundred Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

Naylor motioned for Mager to stop as he neared the vent to his right. If Mager was right, Longman's lab should just be beyond the grating. Carefully, Naylor edged up to the vent and peered out. He had to wait a moment to allow his vision to adapt to the dim, red lighting in the room.

And sure enough, he saw what must have been Longman. He was dressed in a blood-splattered lab coat, wearing an odd helmet that strongly resembled an alien's head. The scientist's back was to him, and Naylor could see an alien squatting on all fours beside the man, its tail thrashing impertinently like an irked cat watching for prey.

Quietly and slowly, Naylor brought about his pulse rifle. It would only take one shot to destroy the control device on Longman's head and the alien beside him wouldn't even pause before it splattered Longman's coat with the scientist's own blood. But even as he lined up the sight, he took a quiet, though raspy breath. If he did that though, they wouldn't be able to get the aliens under control to make escaping easier. He'd have to settle for shooting Longman out from under the helmet, and taking out his pet before it could react…

Then something ripped the vent cover off. Naylor's gun went off in surprise, glancing off whatever the black thing was that reached in to grab for him. Longman in the room below ducked aside just in time as pair of sizzling bullets lodged themselves into the instrument panel he had been looking at a moment ago. Before Naylor could get off a second burst, the starry black alien that had torn off the vent grating had lashed its tail into the vent, yanking Naylor's arm askew. The thing was already clawing and grabbing at him as Naylor tried frantically to beat it off. Hissing and howling, the creature started pulling Naylor from the vent. Before he could be hauled out, Naylor yelled to Mager to run.

He had just a moment to look back and see Mager pulling back, an expression of sheer terror on his face. It was a distraction long enough for the alien to find purchase on Naylor's shoulder and drag the marine bodily out of the vent and onto the floor.

Naylor tumbled to the floor, his rifle pulled from his hand in the fall. As he struck the ground the heavy weapon backpack also fell and landed with a resounding crack on the floor. Before he could get up, the alien that had hauled him out of the vent slinked up beside him, hissing loudly in his face, baring the inner jaws at him.

"Well, commander Naylor," Longman stated as if amused, his voice hissing as he straightened up and stepped nearer. "I see you've finally found me."

"I just followed the smell," Naylor stated dryly, keeping one eye on the alien beside him. He managed to sit up, the alien leering at him impatiently awaiting Longman's order to tear the marine to shreds.

Longman frowned, and stated, "I'd keep a civil tongue, if I were you. You wouldn't want me to have it ripped out just yet."

"I'd rather rip your heart out," Naylor replied under his breath. "If you had one."

Longman pretended he didn't hear as he continued to gloat. "You and your marines have caused me quite a bit of grief, commander Naylor."

"Sergeant," corrected Naylor.

Longman cocked his head slightly quizzically. "_Sergeant?_ No matter," Longman sneered, casting about his hand. "The rest of your team, where are they? Searching for me?"

"I know better than to rat on my friends," Naylor replied, ignoring the hisses from the alien beside him, its tail flickering angrily like a mad cat.

Longman's expression became bland, but his voice was commanding. "I strongly suggest you reconsider, _sergeant_ Naylor. My pets can make your death most unpleasant."

Naylor simply glared past the alien beside him to let his hate-filled eyes settle on Longman. "Very well," Longman spat. "I imagine you've been missing your second-in-command, hmmm?" Longman chuckled low and menacingly as Naylor icily glared at the scientist. "Why don't we give you a reminder of him? Perhaps we should start with your arm?"

"Nooooo!" Naylor roared, lunging at the alien beside him.


	14. Chapter 14

Fourteen Zero Seven Thirty Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Surface Level 1, Section A

Katie was in the lead once again, warily scanning the hall ahead as the others followed with equally searching eyes. Farrell was only half a step behind Katie, with Silvio following along a few feet behind and Wilkins covering the rear. Wilkins was almost shaking as he held his pistol out with both hands. The four had run into two sets of drones on the hall leading towards the ops center. Katie and Silvio had easily dispatched the first pair, but their gunfire had brought two others, one of which had almost wrapped itself around Wilkins before they were aware of the replacements. A lucky shot from Wilkins wild shooting had caught it under the chin, sending it sprawling back where it had thrashed for a full minute on the floor, acid blood gushing and spraying everything around it as it died. Farrell had picked off the last one while Wilkins had stood by, horrified that he had barely escaped death.

When Katie and Farrell stopped at the primary security lock to the ops tower, Wilkins nearly stumbled over Silvio.

"Watch it," Silvio stated, catching Wilkins and straightening him back up. Seeing Wilkins wild, frightened stare, he added, "You're creeping me out man."

"Shut up," Farrell hissed as Katie bent down to examine the lock. He turned back to Katie. "Can you get it open?"

"If Longman hasn't changed the code, it'll be a cinch," Katie replied. She punched in the command code Callsign had given her and depressed the entry key.

Instead of green light and the welcome hiss of the door opening, Katie was greeted by a flashing red light and a calm, feminine computer voice that rang out. "Invalid Code has been entered. Please place your palm on the ID reader for genetic identification."

"Fuck you," Katie quipped, shouldering her pulse rifle. Even as a blue panel beside the entry pad lit up with a palm-shaped glow, Katie pulled her bypass kit off her belt and yanked the entry pad open, exposing the wiring behind it.

"Warning," the calm, feminine computer voice spoke, "Illegal access detected. Please desist your current activity and wait. An aide is being dispatched."

"I hope it isn't one of Longman's pets," Silvio whispered to Farrell.

Katie was busy attaching the leads of the bypass kit to the keypad's wiring. The computer seemed to stutter in disbelief at Katie's audacity, and it repeated its warning. In the meantime, Katie adjusted the settings on the bypass kit as it fought to discover the override code to open the door.

Finally, the door opened with a hydraulic hum. The computer's tone changed once again, sounding almost exasperated. "Warning. Illegal entry has been obtained. This action constitutes a class E felony. Military personnel are being dispatched and will arrive momentarily."

Katie adjusted the controls on the bypass kit one more time, and then depressed a red button on the kit. Sparks surged from the leads as they popped off and the wires they were attached to burned through. A small puff of smoke erupted from the wiring within the wall, and the computer voice suddenly went quiet. A moment later, it merrily announced, "Welcome to Dengor Base Operations Control. Have a nice day." Blue and yellow lights slowly flickered to life in the room, as if being brought out of a long sleep.

"Nice touch," Farrell smiled.

"Showoff," Silvio booed.

"Get moving," Wilkins stated, shouldering Silvio forward.

Farrell had now taken the lead and was about to step into the room when he suddenly stopped. Behind him, Silvio caught the flash of something black moving in the dark room. "Looks like the welcoming committee," he stated, coming up beside Farrell and bringing his gun up.

Katie unslung her pulse rifle from her shoulder and was bringing it up when Farrell gasped, "What the hell is THAT?"

Apparently, the group's action had awakened the room's defender. It had just crawled off the bank of computers it had been sleeping on and slowly stretched up to its full height. The black behemoth could not be less than three meter tall, and was covered in glistening ebony black armor. Thin and tapering claws, each long enough to wrap around one of the marine's head, clacked as it stretched. The head rose up and up and up, revealing a deadly double-mouthed jaw protected by a vast, shield-shaped crest that ran along the back of its head. It was too small to be a queen, but far too large to be a drone. It looked terrifying.

"Praetorian," Katie breathed, and Silvio nodded. "A queen's guard – or a pre-queen."

"Must be where the eggs came from," Silvio stated, his mouth dry. "You know, I don't think Longman knows about this thing either."

Sensing the group, the Praetorian took a bold step forward. Its exoskeletal boots made a sound like a thunderclap, and the foursome took a nervous step backwards. Sensing the fear in the four, the praetorian leaned forward and hissed loudly. The sound reminded Farrell of a friend's death scream he had once heard several days ago. It chilled him to the bone.

"Kill it!" Farrell suddenly yelled. Sensing the danger, the praetorian rushed forward.

The threesome's pulse rifles roared to life as the gunfire tore into the advancing alien. A moment later, Wilkins was reaching over Silvio to fire his pistol at the thing. The creature had lowered to all fours and held up the head fin like a shield. Bits of exoskeleton plinked off the armored creature as it rushed forward. One of Katie's round's tore into the creature's upper arm, but it did not dissuade the creature's rush at all.

As it reached the door, the marines hesitated a moment to late. The creature rose to its full height as bullets continued to nick and tear at the titan's hide. With a single swipe of one of its claws, it dashed Silvio away and backward as Wilkins was thrown to the ground. Katie pulled to one side, barely missing a beheading by the nightmare's wildly flailing tail. Meanwhile, the creature knocked Farrell into the opposite wall and pinned him with its huge hand.

The blow felled Silvio and Wilkins's gun scattered from his grip when he hit the ground. Farrell struggled impotently to free himself as the praetorian's huge hand squeezed his chest, threatening to crack every bone in his body. As the intense pain washed over him, Farrell's pulse rifle slipped to the floor.

Katie was the only one who had managed to avoid being hit, though she had to move swiftly to avoid being skewered by the sword-sized tail barb of the praetorian. She managed to slip into the ops room behind the praetorian even as the creature bent down to grasp Wilkins, who was now trying to scramble away from the beast.

Katie let loose a short barrage from her pulse rifle into the back of the praetorian's head shield. The bullets chipped the creature's bony exoskeleton, but did little to harm it. "Hey ugly," she panted, trying to draw it away from the others, "behind you, you stupid son of a bitch."

The attack seemed to have the effect Katie wanted. The creature paused, gave a snarling hiss at Wilkins, and then slowly turned to face Katie. However, the creature held onto Farrell, who was now nearly unconscious. Katie could see the bladed tail rising into position behind the beast to skewer the trapped Farrell.

"You don't want him," she half laughed, shaking her head, "You want me, don't ya?"

The praetorian took one slow step towards Katie, the tail poised to strike. However, it did not let go of Farrell.

"Mother fucker," she breathed, lining up her shot. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"

Previously, Zero Seven Hundred Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

The alien easily batted Naylor back down to the ground. Before it could pounce on Naylor though, Longman thrust his mental control back over the creature, and it pulled back, leaving Naylor wheezing, but slowly sitting back up.

"Sergeant Naylor," Longman hissed through a smile. "You have no real understanding of your current situation. Let me enlighten you."

Longman thrust out his arm toward the alien that had just knocked Naylor down. The alien began to shudder slightly, and then buckled, collapsing to all fours so that its head was at Naylor's level. Longman clenched his fist and the alien suddenly reached out, grasping Naylor's right arm. Naylor punched at the creature as it yanked his arm straight, and he was about to kick it when it Longman curled his arm to his chest and the alien suddenly drew its steel talons down Naylor's arm.

Naylor felt a white-hot burning sensation as the alien ripped through his body armor and suit, peeling the flesh away as it tore down his arm. He let out a stifled scream and fell back as the alien completed its gory work. Blood began to ooze down the raw flesh as Naylor huffed, sick with shock and pain. He fought a black wave that crashed against his consciousness, threatening to send him to a dark oblivion.

"I can give you a very slow, torturous death," Longman warned. Naylor's eyes, full of hate and loathing, drummed against Longman's drawn, tired looks. "Or I can make it painless and quick."

"I'm…" Naylor huffed, "going…to…stuff your head…up your pet's bleeding ass-"

"Ever defiant, I see," Longman chuckled.

"You're…losing control," Naylor stated.

Longman paused. "What do you mean?" he asked idly as Naylor gingerly attempted to cover his wound with the shredded bits of his sleeve. "I am in complete control of this situation."

"Your… alien - flinched," Naylor gasped. "When's the last time you changed that xeno brain?"

Longman stopped, as if caught by surprise. His alien pet had reacted to Naylor's lunge without a command or thought from him. Suddenly, his eyes darted from side to side as he seemed to be thinking. Inwardly, Naylor smiled. He could see the red in Longman's eyes from the lack of sleep. He wondered if Longman had slept any at all in the last thirty hours or so. As Longman stood, Naylor glanced just beyond his alien foe at the pulse rifle lying on the floor. He just needed a few moments of distraction…

As Longman stepped towards a control panel, he stopped and suddenly turned to look briefly at Naylor. "Can't have any tricks," Longman stated coldly as one of the aliens stepped towards Naylor, hissing as it did.

The thing grabbed Naylor's bleeding wrist as Longman depressed a large red button on the control panel. The sudden shock and pain made Naylor cry out, disrupting his concentration. Between Longman and his alien, a panel on the floor slid aside and a black pedestal rose up. The pedestal was topped with a smoke-filled glass case that Naylor could barely concentrate to see through his pain.

"I'd remain very still while I change out the old brain," Longman warned. "You wouldn't want that beast to lose control right now, would you?" The creature seemed to hiss its desire at Naylor as it continued to hold the bleeding flesh of Naylor's right wrist. He just needed a few seconds to get the gun…

Longman bent slightly to touch another button on the control panel and the smoke within the glass case disappeared, revealing a somewhat decayed alien head. Longman mumbled something to himself and slightly shook his head before pressed another button. Before Naylor's eyes, the skull slid away.

_Now_, Naylor thought to himself. _Got to act now…_

Just as he prepared to move, a deafening explosion rocked the lab.

Dengor, Military Base 8, Surface Level 1

If the praetorian had been human, its face would have contorted into surprise and shock as the explosion from Katie's grenade round tore the creature's left leg off at the knee. She had set the fuse to the lowest setting before firing and hardly a lick of flame erupted in the explosion. The powerfully tough exoskeleton contained the majority of the blast, sending only a ripple of acid blood a few centimeters out before the leg simple fell aside and collapsed on the floor. The huge praetorian wobbled for a second before falling to the ground, a sickly yellowish blood spurting from the wound. In its fall, the creature released its grasp on Farrell to stabilize itself. Farrell fell aside and bounced painfully on the ground as the wounded beast released him.

The loss of the limb only gave the praetorian the briefest of pause. Angered, the creature used its massive arms to start hauling itself madly towards Katie. Reacting quickly, Katie clambered atop the bank of computers the creature had used to sleep on and started pumping bursts into the creature. Most of the bullets only slightly nicked the creature, sending small shards of exoskeleton into the air as the creature closed the distance and then dug its claws into the mainframe, determined to pull itself up to its prey.

At this close range, Katie could see the numerous wounds the praetorian bled from. Small gashes in its armor leaked yellow acid blood as the wound to its leg left a quickly widening trail along the floor. Yet it still fought on, undaunted, slowly clambering up the mainframe with its long arms, dragging the useless leg along.

The creature smashed one titanic hand into the top of the mainframe, and Katie leapt off on the side opposite the nightmarish creature. As she landed, the creature's other monstrous hand crashed into the top of the computer mainframe, and she could hear it hiss as it began to pull itself up and over the bank of computers.

Katie had one grenade left. Aiming it at the base of the mainframe, she pulled the trigger and let it fly at the joint between the floor and the brackets the held the computers in place. There was a terrifying explosion, an angry screech from the praetorian, and then the sound of metal ripping as two and a half tons of mainframe lurched and fell away from Katie.

With a sickening thud, she heard the praetorian collapse onto the floor and the mainframes crush and pin the screaming, hissing creature to the floor. She watched one of the praetorian's hands flail about, trying to find purchase on the mainframe to push the awesomely heavy machine off it. But the motions of the flailing hand began to slow, and then finally stopped as it collapsed lifeless to the floor.

Katie took several deep breaths as the only other sound that could be heard was the hissing sound of acid eating metal and the other marines groaning in pain. After several moments, Katie made her way around and helped Farrell up. He was still clenching his sides in pain, but no bones seemed to be broken.

Wilkins was already slapping Silvio, trying to wake the marine up. "C'mon," Katie urged, grabbing the unconscious Silvio's legs. "Let's get inside the ops center. We can close the door and wake him up in there."

"There's not more…things in there, is there?" Wilkins asked.

"I don't think so," Katie replied as they both hauled Silvio into the room. Fighting his discomfort, Farrell used the manual crank to seal the foot-thick ops door behind him after Silvio was inside. "If there were, they would have already attacked," Katie continued. She dropped Silvio's feet, and without thinking, Wilkins let go of his head and Silvio fell to the floor, his head bouncing from the impact.

"Whoops," Wilkins remarked.

Silvio groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. "Wha-what happened?"

"Fly boy just dropped you on your head," Katie stated.

"Thanks," Wilkins and Silvio said in unison.

Katie sighed and turned toward the command console. As she maneuvered around the smoking mainframes and headed up the steps to the main controls, Silvio stood and joined Wilkins as the two followed Katie. As Wilkins came up beside Katie, he whistled, then said, "Doesn't look good."

The destruction of the two mainframes had caused a panic of activity on the main console. Warning lights flickered on a multitude of panels as streams of messages and code whisked across the silver display screens. Wilkins shook his head in dismay and Silvio bent closer. Katie wedged herself between the two and took a seat. Her hands flew over the controls as she read messages and turned off alarm alerts. "System thinks it's been attacked," she stated. "It's initiated all sort of encoding protocols and shutdown commands. Once it does that," she stated, inputting a few queries into the computer. "It's going to shut the base down and…"

She stopped as Silvio and Wilkins suddenly leaned closer. "Does that say what I think -," Wilkins started.

Silvio breathed his words almost simultaneously, "You've got to be kidding."

On the silver screen, now cleared of the streams of code was a single flashing red box with a timer in it. Less than twenty minutes remained. It read "Base Self-Destruct Sequence Prepared". Underneath the flashing red box was a simple white line of text and a prompt. The text read, "Override Code:"

"Don't worry," Katie laughed hollowly. "I'm a whiz at this."

There was the sudden sound of grating metal from nearby and the three looked up. The black hand of the praetorian was held up high, and as they watched, it reached down to grasp the mainframe. With a sickening screech, the sound of tearing metal filled the air.

"I'm not worried," Silvio stated flatly, and then looked to Katie. "We've got twenty minutes, right?"

Farrell started to move from the door when a loud thump sounded from the metal door. Several additional thumps resounded through the control room and Farrell could barely make out the sounds of hissing aliens beyond the door.

"I think they finally caught up to us," Farrell stated, moving from the door.

"Are you worried now?" Wilkins asked Silvio bitterly.

Silvio ran his hand through his hair as he held up his pulse rifle. "Not yet," he admitted. "The door's over a foot thick, and the praetorian's stuck under a couple of tons of mainframe."

The droning, banging sound at the main door continued as a new sound erupted from the door. A yellow stain appeared on the dull gray metal of the door, and began to bubble and hiss. Farrell's eyes widened as he realized it was xenomorphic acid eating through the door. "What the hell are they doing?" he shouted, bringing up his gun.

Wilkins grabbed Katie's shoulder as Silvio narrowed his focus on the door. "They must be body-slamming one of their buddies into the door," Silvio stated.

"Using him like a living battering ram," Wilkins breathed.

Just then, the sound of the rending mainframe became a high-pitched crack and the fallen mainframe split in two, hissing with sparks as it did so. Out of the hissing sparks rose the praetorian, its huge black hands grasping and tearing into the metal of the adjacent mainframes as it rose to stand on one leg. The creature was badly battered with crumpled bits of exoskeleton where the mainframe had held the thing to the ground. Small pockmarks dotted the creature's black finish where the pulse rifle bullets had mostly bounced off its armored hide. A few spots were stained with yellow smears where shots had ripped into the alien's exoskeleton. The praetorian's leg wound had diminished to a slow drip as the yellow acid blood had seemingly melted the creature's exoskeleton shut in an attempt to seal up the wound.

The creature arced forward in defiance, hissing loudly at the trio of Katie, Wilkins and Silvio. Instantly, Wilkins held out his pistol, pumping shots at the creature, which harmlessly bounced off. Katie was on the verge of getting up and grabbing her pulse rifle when Silvio leaped over the console toward the creature. He was out of arm's reach of the thing, but he braced himself and his gun against the hip as he cocked the grenade launcher. As he cocked the launcher, his thumb slid the grenade launcher's fuse setting to the maximum setting. Even as he readied, the praetorian began to move, leaning forward.

"Fire in the hole," he yelled, even as Katie shouted for him to stop. There was a deep thumping sound as the grenade launcher fired, hurling the grenade at the praetorian. But the creature was already in motion. Without both legs, the creature had hurled itself forward and was falling toward the ground. The grenade sailed through the air, catching the falling praetorian in the thick head shield, which it effortlessly shattered through and continued until it struck the beam above the entryway.

The explosion billowed out in a great fireball, and the nearby burst flung Farrell away from his position near the door. Silvio's face was frozen in shock and horror at the miss as the annoyed praetorian looked up from the ground, the huge hole bored through the creature's exoskeletal head shield still smoking even as bits of solid exoskeleton hung and fell off from the hole's perimeter.

"Shoot it on the ground!" Wilkins yelled to Silvio, even as the mammoth creature reached forward, grabbing the floor and twisting it like paper in its hands as it dragged itself forward.

Silvio turned momentarily to face Wilkins, "That was my last grenade," he announced, then turned back to the creature, and began shooting it with his pulse rifle.

Katie had settled back into the chair as the monitors before her spilled over with more code. "Shit!" she yelled as she tried to fumble with the controls.

"Forget it," Wilkins yelled, grabbing her arm. "We need to move!" Katie shrugged him off.

"If it finishes encoding everything and shuts down, we won't be able to stop the self-destruct," she argued. "Silvio's got that thing handled! You go check on Farrell." Wilkins was about to protest, but Katie's firm gaze made him decide otherwise. Reloading his pistol, he started to make his way around towards Farrell.

Silvio had paused to reload his pulse rifle as the mammoth praetorian continued to drag towards the trio. He looked back at Katie at her statement, worry covering his face. His eyes locked for a moment with Katie, and seeing her determined gaze, he turned back to his work. The bullet-ridden praetorian was undaunted, though the thick head shield chipped from the fire from Silvio's gun. Just as Silvio managed to finish reloading, the praetorian reared up, holding itself up with its arms. Raising one, it slashed at Silvio, barely missing him as he ducked and swung to the side. Suddenly, the creature's tail whipped from behind the thing, nearly taking Silvio's head off with the swift blow.

Silvio sprayed an extended burst at the praetorian's tail, shattering the barb with a barrage of bullets. The praetorian hissed in rage, and belly-flopped towards Silvio, grabbing at him with both arms as it collapsed forward. Silvio tried to leap away, but the huge hands of the praetorian wrapped around his legs, and he fell to the ground, his pulse rifle jarred out of his hands. He rolled over and reached for it, but as the praetorian started to pull him closer, his fingers fumbled over the weapon and it teetered off the steps to his side and fell far out of his reach.

"Katie, help!" Silvio almost screamed, his mouth going dry. The praetorian was now slowly drawing him closer, raising its head and hissing as the lipless jaws slowly opened. The dark inside of the creature's maw dripped with thick saliva and from within the black well a smaller set of inner teeth slowly emerged, the tiny jaws slipping open and echoing the larger jaws hiss.

Katie looked up from the console to see the praetorian drawing Silvio in. Without hesitation, she leapt up from her seat, grabbing her pulse rifle from above the display. She clambered atop the console to get a better shot at the creature, and brought the gun up to shoot.

The praetorian's debarbed tail lashed out, catching Katie in the side and knocking her down from the console. Luckily for Silvio, the praetorian's distraction was exactly what he needed. With a fluid motion, he drew the knife from his hip sheath and stabbed at the praetorian's huge hands. The first blow glanced off the armored hand harmlessly, but Silvio's second strike found purchase in the joint for the creature's wrist. The fiend howled as the knife tore the protected tendons under the exoskeleton, and the injured hand snapped open, releasing one of Silvio's legs. Silvio retracted the knife as quickly as he could, and the blade smoked from acid blood.

The attack wasn't enough. The praetorian brought the club-like tail around and across Silvio's chest, knocking him down. The praetorian then pulled itself back into a sitting position, pulling Silvio closer as it did so.

There was a sudden explosion from behind the praetorian, muffled slightly by the titanic popping sound that accompanied it. Sickly yellow acid sprayed from behind the praetorian's head shield along with a mix of shattered black exoskeleton and fibrous matter from the creature's brain.

Katie had fallen to the floor, knocked senseless from the tail sweep that had knocked her beneath the console. It took her a moment to clear head with a shake. By the time she stood back up, the praetorian wobbled, slowly turning its head toward the entryway. The sound of hissing acid eating through the doorway, punctuated by the fierce beating against the metal doorway continued unabated. Beside the door, supporting Farrell with one hand was Wilkins, holding a pulse rifle whose grenade launcher was smoking. He was panting heavily, obviously in awe of his own actions. Half of a second passed as the praetorian regarded Wilkins, then the creature turned back to look back at Silvio, who it still held on the floor with its one good hand.

It issued one last gurgling hiss as yellow acid blood gushed out of the back of the praetorian's destroyed head. Then it began to fall forward. Katie let out a yell of despair as Wilkins could only watch on, stunned. Silvio, realizing what was happening, tried to slam his smoking knife into the creature's other wrist to free himself. But it was too late. The praetorian fell forward on Silvio, its mass pinning him to the ground.

Even as Katie rushed down help Silvio, she could hear him screaming. The streaming acid from the praetorian's carcass flowed over its dead body and showered Silvio's body with the substance.

Katie could only watch in horror as thick smoke erupted from the floor as the acid ate through everything. Silvio's screams were ghastly, but the thing had fallen so that he was captured beneath the bleeding cranium. From beneath the huge shattered black shield that had been the praetorian's head, Katie could see Silvio's thrashing limbs, smoking and shaking as the acid ate through his body. A horrible smell of burned flesh filled the air as the acid quickly did its work. His cries only lasted a few seconds before his limbs stiffened, then fell without life to protrude from the gaping grave the praetorian was burning into the deck.

Sparks and smoke began to issue from the growing fissure as Wilkins came up beside Katie, still helping Farrell stand. "I-I'm sorry," Wilkins stated. "I didn't know it was going to –."

Behind her, Katie could hear the power to the console wind down. The console went black with a pop even as the lights in the room flickered and started to fade. Katie shook her head as the bashing sound from the entryway became louder. The lights to the room blinked, then went out. Immediately sensing the darkness, Farrell's and Katie's shoulder lamps flickered to life, casting hard shadows across the three and barely illuminating the room. The sounds of screeching aliens in the outer hallway could now be heard. Katie looked up at Wilkins, her face earnest, her voice level and almost emotionless. "It wasn't your fault." She stated.

At that moment, the fist of a xenomorph erupted through the weakened metal of the entryway. Katie brought her light up to better see the doorway as Wilkins turned as well, handing the pulse rifle to Farrell and then drawing his pistol again. Farrell, getting his legs under himself, pulled away from Wilkins and leaned against the blank consoles as the three focused their attention to the entryway door.

Acid yellowed metal was torn aside as the first of the alien drones peered in, taking in the smell of dead flesh and burning wiring. The eyeless skull of the alien lingered a moment before withdrawing. More alien fists tore at the door, stripping the metal away with a slurpy tearing sound.

"Looks like the last stand," Wilkins mumbled uneasily.

"Then let's make it a hell of a one," Katie retorted, raising her rifle. She set her sights on the elongated skull of the first alien trying to enter the room and pulled the trigger. It screamed as Katie's shots tore the alien's skull asunder, sending fragment across the entryway.

Previously, Dengor Military Base 8, Sublevel 3

Moments after the explosion in the lab, the whole of the room went dark. In the confusion, Naylor made a dash for the gun. His shoulder light had immediately flickered to life as soon as it had detected the darkness and its beam fell across his rifle. He could feel the fetid breath of Longman's alien pet on his back even as he pulled the gun up into his uninjured hand. He whirled, and the thing was in his face, claws held up to slash, jaws open ready to strike.

Naylor didn't even flinch, but instead smashed the creature across the cheek with the butt of his rifle. The creature was knocked to the side by the blow and Naylor moved back and away from it, keeping his light focused on the xenomorph. With an extended spray from his rifle, he shattered the alien's chest, and it collapsed in a heap on the ground, spewing acid from a number of holes in its thorax.

Naylor backed up against the wall, reminding himself there was still another xenomorph and Longman in the room. He started to pan the room when out of the shadows leapt Longman, his left arm bleeding, his eyes wild both with madness from lack of rest and his utter anger.

Longman slammed head first into Naylor's stomach. The black helmet on Longman's head sparked and shocked Naylor, causing the marine to drop his rifle. Once he had overcome the shock, Naylor wrestled with Longman, who continued to hold the marine about the waist, slamming Naylor's back against the wall.

Bringing both of his arms together, Naylor brought them down in a fist across Longman's back. The scientist collapsed to the ground as Naylor heard and felt something tear out of his boot.

Longman backed slightly as he regained his footing. He held Naylor's knife in his hand, and a thin line of Naylor's own blood dripped down the blade. Longman looked like a feral animal, almost like one of his own twisted aliens. The helmet on his head sparked slightly, but Longman seemed not to notice as a guttural chuckle welled in his throat. "I'm going to cut you open from throat to groin," he threatened, slashing wildly at Naylor.

But Longman didn't have any skill with the knife. Though he was wounded now both along his left arm and leg, he easily avoided Longman's wide sweeps with the knife. When Longman overextended himself with a particularly wide slash, Naylor caught the scientist across the cheek and sent him sprawling backwards. As Longman stood and wiped away the thin trickle of blood, he again uttered a guttural chuckle. Naylor took a martial stance, holding both hands into fists, even though his left arm burned as if on fire.

"Even if I don't finish you off," Longman hissed, getting to his feet, but remaining hunched over. "My pets will kill you. You won't get out alive." At that he rushed Naylor with surprising quickness. He slammed into Naylor's chest again even as Naylor slammed his fists into Longman's sides.

This time, Longman's blade sliced into Naylor's flesh between the plates that protected his lower abdomen. Naylor's punches caused Longman's knees to buckle, but Longman's blade forced Naylor against the wall, where Longman held him pinned. Before Naylor could retaliate, Longman twisted the knife in the wound. He cackled madly at Naylor's cry of pain. But unknown to Longman, Naylor's armor was already attempting to treat the wound and injecting a pain killer to the affected area.

Naylor fumbled at Longman with his injured arm, and managed to sweep the glasses from the young man's face. This only irritated Longman, who continued to push and twist the knife in Naylor's wound, cackling at Naylor's gasps of pain. Then Naylor brought his uninjured arm up, jabbing Longman in the eyes. The scientist fell back with a howl, leaving the knife in Naylor's side.

"I'll kill you with my bare hands," Longman roared when he turned back. Naylor had already pulled out the knife, and stood bracing himself against the wall. Longman rushed forward, and Naylor hurled the knife with all his might. It caught Longman in his right eye, and the scientist fell backwards even as his feet tried to carry him forward.

The scientist thrashed on the floor several seconds, reaching for the knife, but not able to withstand the pain to pull it out. In a matter of moments, Longman was very still. Naylor quickly examined the scientist, but it was clear the helmet was damaged, though the sparking now seemed to stop.

Naylor breathed a heavy sigh, and then let his shoulder lamp scan the floor near him to find the pulse rifle. Once he had recovered it, he took a look around the room to find both the location of the other alien and his savior who had blasted the xenomorphic skull.

As his shoulder lamp fell came across the mangled carcass of the other alien, torn apart by the initial grenade blast, a pair of black boots appeared at the far side of the smoking creature's corpse.

Naylor's lamp rose up the frame of the owner of the boots, revealing a heavy-set figure in marine fatigues. The man had white hair and a short well-trimmed beard. A ragged scar ran down one side of his face. He held a pulse rifle aimed in Naylor's direction.

"You," Naylor breathed, too stunned to believe his own eyes.

Dengor, Military Base 8, Surface Level 1

The fight in the main control room was quickly deteriorating. As the aliens tried to pour through the main door, Katie and Farrell had alternating cutting the things down. Their actions had given them enough time for Wilkins to scramble to retrieve Silvio's gun and help in keeping the aliens from swarming into the room. However, for each alien the trio shot down, another appeared to take its place.

As Katie mowed down an adventurous alien that attempted to leap past the doorway, Farrell checked his pulse rifle and announced, "I'm down two clips of ammo."

Wilkins gritted his teeth, blasted an alien trying to crawl in along the top part of the entryway and stated, "How many of them are there? And where the hell did they all come from?"

"Each one of these is a former marine," Farrell announced, remembering his friend's fates. He let loose with a thunderous burst as one alien attempted to skitter along the floor into the room. His shots tore it to pieces and he let off a few extra rounds as it thrashed on the floor "There was over five hundred in the base before Longman took over."

"So there could be five-hundred of these things running around, trying to get in?" Wilkins sputtered. He slipped out the empty pulse rifle clip and regarded the last clip he had left. He remembered a time when he would have rather run than fight these things. Now he didn't have a choice if he wanted to escape alive. He rammed the clip home and aimed at the door, waiting for the next alien to burst forth. He didn't have to wait long. "We've got to find another way out, quick!"

"Point us to one and we'll go," Farrell stated through gritted teeth. The rattle of his gun hurt his burned arm, but he merely grimaced and continued to fight. He knew if he got out of this hellhole, there would be time to treat his burns later. Right now, he had to keep his focus on the task before him.

Wilkins looked around quickly. The command room had been built to resist being taken, which meant the only way in or out was through the entryway they had come in. For a moment, he thought about possibly trying the vents, but they were sure to be overrun before the three could get in. He stopped thinking long enough to help blast apart a trio of aliens that attempted to enter simultaneously. Then again, he thought, if the vents are big enough, it would slow the aliens down at least.

"I'm going to try the vents," Wilkins announced, dashing from the console to the side wall. As Katie and Farrell continued to keep the aliens at bay, Wilkins scanned the dim wall for a ventilation shaft large enough for the three to escape by. He finally found a vent low to the ground, but it was sealed shut. A quick burst from his pulse rifle fixed that, however.

"Katie, Farrell, over here," Wilkins shouted, pointing to the vent.

"You go first," Farrell announced amid destroying an alien.

Wilkins hardly paused before he bodily pulled himself into the vent. It was dark and quiet, except for the echoes that filtered in from the control room. To his utter shock, luminescent signs were evenly spaced down the vent. Each fluorescent red sign read in white letters "Exit". Just above the entryway to the vent he noticed a small plaque reading "Emergency Escape Shaft."

Wilkins pulled himself out to yell at Farrell and Katie. "It's an escape shaft. Someone actually put an escape shaft here!"

Farrell and Katie glanced at each other for a moment. "Go," Farrell yelled to Wilkins, and then repeated his order to Katie. While Farrell laid down a suppressing fire on the aliens, Katie scuttled over to the shaft. Wilkins had already clambered in. Katie glanced at it momentarily. It was sized just right for human passage, but obviously too small for an alien to clamber within. Katie was halfway in, when she turned to look at Farrell and noticed the marine had not moved from where he braced against the console.

"What are you waiting for?" Farrell yelled as he shortly paused to switch to his last clip. "Get the hell out of here!"

"I'm not leaving you," Katie said angrily. With the momentary pause in gunfire, several aliens leapt into the room, splitting and slipping into the darkness that filled the command room.

"I can't make it," Farrell stated sadly, leaning heavily against the console for support and bringing his gun up. He gritted his teeth from the recoil of the gun as it pulverizing one alien that had decided on a slow advance from the doorway. "Take Wilkins and get to the dropship."

"Like hell I will," Katie yelled, sprinting from the shaft. She reached Farrell and helped him cut two aliens in half that sprang from the darkness beside him. "I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself!" she yelled, and grasped Farrell around the waist.

The marine was in too much pain to do more than keep his grasp on his pulse rifle. Katie turned to the shaft as an alien stepped from the darkness to block her path to the shaft. Katie brought her gun up and cut through the alien as it started its advance, and then shoved the dying alien's carcass aside. She thrust Farrell into the shaft, yelling "Crawl, damn you!" then turned to face a hissing alien leaping at her. The thing landed with full force on her, slamming her against the wall and nearly jarring the rifle from her hand.

Katie used the rifle to slam the thing in the chest before it could claw or sting her, knocking it slightly back. The thing was persistent however, and leaped at her again. Katie brought the rifle but across the thing's jaw, slamming it out of the air and to the ground. Before it could recover, Katie fired her rifle into the xenomorph's throat, beheading it.

Before another alien could reach her, Katie threw herself feet first into the shaft. But she was not quite quick enough. A glossy black hand caught her lapel as she tried to scurry into the shaft. She looked back to see the hand's owner bending down, the glistening jaws opening in anticipation of a kill. In desperation, Katie fired a burst into the thing's jaws, sending a spray of acid everywhere. The xenomorph released its grip on Katie as it fell backward, gurgling a hiss as it died. Katie crawled backward into the shaft, casting aside her helmet as she heard the acid eating into it. She had missed a horrible acid spray only thanks to the iron-hard helmet on her head.

As Katie crawled backwards into the shaft, she saw the aliens mass at its entranceway. They hissed and screamed at their escaping prey, which echoed deafingly throughout the shaft. Katie saw the aliens scratch and claw at the entrance in an effort to widen the hole and let them in. Katie unleashed a burst of fire into the massed aliens before she backed out of sight, and was rewarded by the agonizing screams of several wounded aliens.

"Farrell, Wilkins? Where are you?" She called once she was far enough back that the alien's horrendous cries did not drown out all other sound.

"Just a little ahead of you," Farrell's tired voice rang out. "Wilkins found a small room ahead. It's got wind suits and ammo in it."

"Great. Where does it go from there?" Katie asked, still backing down the shaft, but more slowly now.

"There's a ladder leading up to the surface," Farrell replied. "Wilkins thinks it comes out beside the landing pad."

"Thank God," Katie breathed, pausing in the shaft. Her eyes scanned back along the length of the shaft that disappeared into far away darkness. "Naylor, where are you?"


	15. Chapter 15

Fourteen Zero Seven Forty-Five Hours Dengor, Military Base 8, Sublevel 9, Lab C

"Colonel Norden," Naylor sneered, lowering his own gun as the older man held his own pulse rifle level at Naylor. "What are you doing at Dengor base?"

Norden did not smile as he continued to hold his gun at Naylor. "Still remember me, I see?" Norden snarled. "Guard duty hasn't dimmed you wits in the slightest has it, Naylor?"

"Six months isn't nearly enough time to forget your ugly pug," Naylor stated. This was the same colonel who had gotten two of his marines killed over six months ago in his last hive raid. Naylor couldn't believe the man was here. For a moment he wondered if loss of blood or shock was making him imagine the colonel here.

"Thank you for dispatching Longman," Norden replied with a growl. "I would have wished to kill the runt myself, but it will give me much more pleasure to be rid of you."

"You know your brilliant tactical mind just destroyed any chance of getting the xenomorphs back under control," Naylor pointed out, remaining calm, holding himself with dignity. "And you still haven't told me what you're doing here."

Norden laughed. "Ever defiant, I see," he grimaced as he said this. "All right, Naylor, I'll tell you." Norden stepped slightly to one side, in the direction of the main airlock that led out of the lab. "I had you brought to Dengor so I could get rid of you."

"What?!" Naylor almost yelled.

Norden smiled at Naylor's reaction. "It's a bit of a long story, but seeing as how there's no one here to stop me now, I might as well tell you." He paused, as if suddenly reluctant to talk. "You see, I'm a clone."

Naylor's eyebrow arched in disbelief. He knew that cloning had long been banned by the government, even though the companies had been secretly attempting to conduct research into the subject for years. Naylor had even been sent on a military raid of one's company attempts to create clones a few years ago.

"The military's had the ability to make clones for years," Norden stated idly. "They have the most extensive set of genetic samples available – supposable to identify remains of soldiers mutilated beyond recognition."

"The military?" Naylor questioned.

"Namely Dengor base. That is its special mission," Norden stated. "The marines stationed here are actually clones of the officers who run the base. Makes the likelihood of a leak much less likely."

"Even Farrell?" asked Naylor.

"Oh, yes," Norden chuckled. "Corporal Farrell. He's a third generation clone of Brigadier General Verneer. Damn smart – the original, I mean. So were his clones. That's why I singled him out."

Naylor seethed with anger at being duped, but did his best to keep calm. Hopefully Mager was still nearby. "Do they know they're…?"

"No," Norden stated, cutting off Naylor. "They come with a blank slate of a mind. McGarrett had a whole program to give them false memories and pasts. As I said, if they got out, McGarrett couldn't have one of them revealing the whole program. The rest of the government and especially the companies might not approve."

"Then how do you know you're a clone?" Naylor asked.

Norden seemed to shake with rage as he answered. "You don't understand how much a bastard McGarrett is. He had the first clone made – of himself," he stated, pointing to himself with his free hand. "He gave me his knowledge and most of his memories, and told me, _told me_," Norden repeated, his voice thick with anger, "I was merely a copy of him. He wouldn't let me forget it. I could watch the real McGarrett in action all he wanted, as I had to face I was nothing more than a copy. A copy subject to his whims."

Norden took an angry step towards Naylor. "The first chance I got to get out from under his shadow was when he sent me on a mission to capture a queen."

"Our first mission together," Naylor stated lowly.

"And my last as well," Norden hissed. "When I failed to get the queen, after you…" Norden's voice failed as he brushed his cheek in memory, "well, he brought me back here and – tortured me."

Naylor said nothing. When he had first met Norden, he was younger and thinner and didn't have the scar down the one side of his face. It looked from Norden's slight hunch that he must have had several bones warped or broken, and he looked some twenty to thirty years older than when Naylor had first met him.

"How did you get so old so quick?" Naylor asked.

Norden snarled. "McGarrett had the clones injected with a chemical cocktail that grows them to maturity in a matter of weeks," he stated, "some of the same process by which the xenomorphs can grow so rapidly." He said, almost with pride, "After the last failed hive raid, he injected me with several doses, as part of my being disciplined," he added with shudder at the memory.

Naylor suddenly cocked his head as a realization hit him. "You said this base's primary mission was cloning?"

Norden smiled, and then nodded. "It was when it first opened. McGarrett had a second base on P-133 for his 'xenomorph' experiments. About two months ago, a predator hunting group attacked the marine base and accidentally released the aliens. Most of the staff was overwhelmed and the predators were killed."

"McGarrett had the research moved to here with an emphasis to find a way to get the P-133 base back. Unfortunately, Longman was the only senior scientist who survived the devastation on P-133," Norden snarled, "He was an idiot, too cautious to try anything daring or risk losing the remaining xenomorph's. It took forever for him to get results. When another batch of predators showed up, I convinced McGarrett to retrieve your group from Earth to face them. I had remembered Mager had lost his arm in one of your previous fights. During one of his 'routine' maintenance checks, I had the good doctor that examined him implant a control transceiver into the bionics."

"So that was how Longman was controlling the xeno's," Naylor snarled.

Norden continued, obviously proud of his accomplishments. "I knew once you had cleaned up the predators, McGarrett would turn on your group. It was quiet a satisfying thought."

Naylor breathed, "How kind of you to think of me so."

Norden's face became grave as he continued, unconcerned with Naylor's comment. "What none of us had counted on was that Longman had made a clone of himself and secretly sent him to Earth to study at a university," Norden stated. "As I said, Longman wasn't too creative. He made the clone out to be his son, Longman, Jr."

"You mean the prick I just killed is really a clone too?" Naylor stated.

Norden nodded. "Isn't it rather ironic?" Norden chuckled. "McGarrett kills the original Longman, and the clone kills McGarrett, and you kill the clone, leaving McGarrett's clone in charge?"

Naylor said nothing, but remained calm and aloof. "Here's one last irony for you," Norden said with a sardonic smile. "Do you really think you've completed fifteen hive raids without losing a marine?"

"What are you trying to say?" Naylor asked, his eyes narrowing.

"No commander has ever - _ever_ \- survived fifteen hive raids, not before or since your record," Norden frowned.

Naylor cocked his head slightly as he considered Norden's words. "You're just trying to goad me," He stated. "Make me doubt myself?"

"This base has a copy of every marine's DNA, Naylor," Norden stated. "I've had time to study your entire team's DNA while I planned my revenge. Imagine my shock when I discovered your DNA is not original," He growled, "It's at least third generation. And your team – your precious team," he gave a sardonic laugh as old memories of the two's past bitter argument washed over them both. "You have no idea who you really are or what you've done." The two were quiet a moment, before Norden added, "You've failed three times already Naylor. This will be the final and last time."

There was a sudden pounding on the door outside the lab. "Ah," Norden stated as he heard the sound. "Sounds like feeding time has arrived."

"You won't get out of here alive, either," Naylor growled.

"Oh, yes, I intend to do that very thing," Norden stated. "You see, that vent you came in is a special escape route put into this base in the very case of an alien infestation. A little renovation McGarrett had installed after the first base was overrun. I might have some trouble squeezing in, but it will take me directly to the dropship."

"What about the command center controls keeping it grounded," Naylor asked.

Norden laughed. "Haven't you noticed the power is out, Naylor? Farrell's friends or your marines have knocked out the main command tower. With no power to the base, escape will be relatively easy." He paused as the pounding on the outer airlock door intensified. "Hmm. They're getting restless."

"Thanks," Naylor stated. "That's everything I needed to know." Norden looked puzzled for a second, and then Naylor adjusted himself so that his shoulder lamp shone directly into Norden's eyes. The clone colonel balked at the sudden blindness at let loose a blind shot.

Naylor easily avoided the ill-aimed burst and tackled the colonel. He wrenched the rifle out of the colonel's hands and tossed the weapon aside. In response, Norden grabbed Naylor by the throat and started to throttle the marine.

Norden's strength was remarkable, and he managed to force Naylor to his knees. Naylor bashed at Norden, but his blows bounced off the marine's armor and helmet. One blow from Naylor almost dazed Norden as it bounced the colonel's helmet off of his skull like a bell, but the maddened colonel only increased his pressure on Naylor's throat.

Naylor had a sudden insight. Instead of attempting to rise and escape Norden's grasp, he pulled himself to the ground on his back. Norden was caught by surprise and Naylor brought his legs up and flipped Norden off and behind him.

Norden's forehead caught on Longman's console and the clone fell down, stunned. The pounding on the outer airlock peaked with a metallic shatter, and was quickly followed with the sound of tearing metal.

Before Norden could gather his wits, Naylor grabbed the clone by his lapels and hauled the man to his feet. A couple well-placed shots to Norden's lightly armored kidneys kept the clone off balance as Naylor hauled the colonel over to the airlock.

"Glass jaw, just like last time," Naylor stated as he slammed Norden against the door of the airlock, stunning the colonel once again. Naylor pulled open a panel to one side of the door and started turning a crank to open the inner doors to the airlock. The inner airlock hissed open as Naylor gave Norden another blow across the back of his neck. Norden reeled in pain and confusion as he was knocked to his hands and knees. Before he could realize what was happening, Naylor flung the marine into the airlock. The cloned colonel fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and Naylor quickly twirled the crank to seal the inner airlock.

Norden's senses quickly gathered at the sound of shredding metal behind him. In horror, Norden watched as the metal of the outer airlock tore as if it were paper being cut with dull scissors. Black, helmeted horrors started to push and shove themselves through the rent metal, their black claws clicking on the metal, a low hiss erupting from their lipless black jaws that were filled with needle-like teeth.

Norden scrambled to his feet. He slammed the control several times to open the airlock before he remembered there was no power to automatically open it. He turned his head to look behind him and saw that one of the black-armored creatures had almost completely pushed itself past the metal outer door. Sweat began to pour down Norden's forehead as he turned completely to face the armored, slick black warrior. He straightened, and focused his attention on the creature approaching him.

Naylor winced slightly as the inner airlock door thumped heavily, denting slightly. There was no scream, only a guttural hiss followed by a garbled, almost human moan. After a quiet moment, the inner door began to thump like the outer as the xenomorphs continued their attempts to enter the lab.

Grabbing the pack of heavy weapons, Naylor scrambled to the vent he had been dragged in from. He threw the pack in to the vent and then hauled himself up just as an alien's fist slammed through the metal of the inner airlock. After firing a short burst from his pulse rifle into the door and hearing the alien screams from beyond it, Naylor scrambled into the vent. He looked down both ends of the long vent. To his surprise and delight, he could see fluorescent lighting indicating a clearly marked path to the exit. Grasping the heavy weapon pack, Naylor started down the narrow vent way.

Dengor, Military Base 8, Surface Level 1, Escape Route

Katie had just entered in the small room with Wilkins and Farrell and stood up when the hatch on the floor of the room started to twist. All three marines trained their guns on the slowly rotating wheel and held their breath.

A moment later, the hatch flung open and the helmet of a marine poked out. The three sighed and lowered their weapons as they realized who it was.

"Mager," Katie boomed, helping the marine up, "Where's Naylor?"

"He got ambushed," Mager replied, "He told me to run, so I thought I'd try to get help from you guys." He pointed down the shaft. "I saw on the map this shaft ran all the way up to the control room, and thought I could get all of you real quick."

Katie sighed. "Where is he?"

"Down in the labs. I think Longman has him," Mager stated.

"How long will it take to get there?" She asked.

"Um, less than five minutes," Mager stated, absent-mindedly grasping at the hand-held computer he had used to navigate the vents.

"C'mon, we're going after him," Katie stated to Mager as she stepped onto the ladder under the hatch.

"Katie, did you get the self-destruct disarmed?" asked Wilkins.

Katie shook here head no. Wilkins was about to protest, but she cut him off. "Take Farrell to the dropship and get it ready for take-off. We have twelve minutes before it's ready to blow."

"Then we won't have even two minutes to rescue Naylor," Mager protested, doing the mental travel calculation.

"Wilkins, wait as long as you can, then get the hell out of here," Katie stated.

"What about me?" asked Mager?

"You're coming with me," Katie replied.

"But less than two minutes-," Mager whined.

Katie grabbed Mager hard and started to haul him into the hatch. "You left him behind," she seethed, "You're coming with me."

The two of them disappeared down the hatch. Wilkins and Farrell remained a moment longer. "I should stop her," Farrell stated. "She risked her life to safe me."

"She knows what she's doing," Wilkins stated. "Let's go." Farrell did not look convinced, so Wilkins added, "You're pretty hurt. You'd only slow them down. We need to get you to the dropship and tend to those burns."

The two dressed in wind suits and reluctantly, Farrell allowed Wilkins to lead him out of the room.

Dengor, Military Base 8, Underground Level 7

It took only a few minutes before Katie caught up with Naylor in the vents. Unable to hug him, she grasped his hands instead and smiled at him. She looked anxiously at Naylor when she saw his bloody arm, but he soothed her with a broad smile.

"Who's still alive?" Naylor asked.

"Me, Mager, Wilkins and Farrell," Katie stated. "Silvio didn't make it, and neither did any of Farrell's friends."

Naylor frowned pointedly. He hated to see so many good marines die, even if some of them were only clones. The loss of so many of his own marines really tore at him inside. None of them deserved to die at the xenomorph's hands.

"We need to get out of here," Katie stated, suddenly becoming very serious.

"We've got about eight minutes left," Mager frowned.

"What's going on?" asked Naylor.

Katie had already started crawling backwards, as did Mager. "The base started a self-destruct sequence. It's going to go critical in a little less than eight minutes."

Naylor quickly followed the retreating Katie and Mager. They moved back through the ducts as quickly as they could. Mager continued to check his watch and keep a verbal countdown as they made their way back.

It took about three minutes to reach the chamber that led upward to the dropship. There were only five minutes left. "I hope it's a short climb," Mager stated, clambering into a wind suit as Naylor and Katie suited up as well.

Luckily, it was. With but four minutes to reach safety, they emerged outside of Dengor base on the concrete drop pad that had brought them to the accursed world. Wilkins already had the dropship primed and ready. The main ramp was already down, and the three scrambled up it into the ship. Katie hurried to the medical bay to tend to Farrell as Mager strapped himself in. Naylor hurried to the cockpit and slipped into the copilot's seat beside Wilkins. Less than a minute was left.

"Good to see you," Naylor smiled as Wilkins's hands flew over the controls. Naylor could barely hear the main ramp whir close as the engine whined to life.

"Glad to see you too," Wilkins stated. "Hang onto your stomach," he warned, then jerked the controls sharply upward.

The ship's thrusters roared like angry lions as the ship hurled straight up. Naylor felt himself slammed down into the seat, and grunted slightly as the forces seem to focus the pain in his wounded arm. He could barely see the altimeter speeding upward even as he watched a timer set on the control panel hastily count away the last few seconds.

When the timer hit the zero mark, there was a sudden, blinding flash from below. "It's about to get rough," Wilkins stated, "We should be clear enough to be safe though."

The blinding flash was followed by a shock wave that shook the dropship, even as the deafening noise of the base's explosion drowned out even Dengor's ferocious winds and the angry roar of the dropship's engines. Naylor could hear the rivets in the cockpit rattling even as he watched the canopy of the ship seem to waver and flex in the shockwave. The ship felt as if it was suddenly rushed upward on the current of the shockwave, before slowing and feeling as if it were dropping. Yet Naylor could see the altimeter still rising, the ship was still in one piece and climbing for space.

When Wilkins sighed with relieve, Naylor knew it was over. They had made it, and Naylor relaxed as he watched the dust-swirled atmosphere of Dengor fall away to the blackness of space. "We made it," Wilkins stated happily. He turned to Naylor. "Where to?"


	16. Chapter 16

Fifteen Zero Eight Hundred Hours Above Planet Dengor aboard the dropship Crimson One

Naylor was about to reply when the report of a single pistol shot resounded from below. Wilkins and Naylor glanced at each other for a moment, and then Naylor unbuckled himself and rushed down the gantryway. He slipped down the ladder in a single motion as Wilkins sealed the door to the cockpit shut behind him.

Katie was already coming out of the medical bay, with Farrell following behind as Naylor came down into the gantry. She had her pulse rifle in hand. "Was that you?" asked Naylor. Katie shook her head that it was not. Pulling his own pistol, Naylor and Katie made their way back toward the cargo hold of the dropship, with Farrell following slightly behind. He looked a little woozy and slightly crispened. Naylor thought that Katie must have given Farrell some sedatives to dull the pain of the obvious burns he had.

As Naylor came into the cargo bay, he held his pistol out in front of him. Katie followed behind Naylor, holding out her rifle, and Farrell stopped in the entryway, his eyes having trouble focusing and believing what he saw.

In the hold, Colonel Norden held Mager at gunpoint. Mager held his hand, which had obviously been shot by the colonel. Seeing Naylor, Norden smiled cruelly and pushed the pistol harder against the exposed side of Mager's head.

"Put the gun down, sergeant – and private," Norden stated at Naylor and Katie.

"How the hell did you escape," Naylor asked, even as he lowered his gun. Behind him, he heard Katie's gun clatter to the floor.

"Hey old man," Farrell said, his expression dazed, "What are you doing? Mager's on our side."

"Shut up Farrell," Norden hissed. Then he turned his attention back to Naylor. "As to your question, sergeant, I escaped the same way I have eluded Longman's attentions." Norden pulled his helmet off with his free hand and tossed it at Naylor's feet. "This helmet has an advanced pheromone secretor tuned to the xenomorph's biology. As far as those aliens are concerned, I'm one of them. It was a cinch to get into the escape shaft, and rather convenient for the dropship to be parked on the main pad."

"What are you going to do now?" asked Naylor.

"Well, I intent to drop you off on P-133, of course," Norden coolly snorted. "After I radio for pickup – as General McGarrett," he laughed slightly as he finished the last statement. "The rest of you can live peaceably for the rest of your lives on P-133, of course." And then, as if an afterthought, he added, "Provided you manage to avoid the xenomorphic population."

Suddenly, Mager tried to free himself by reaching for Norden's gun. Instead of shooting him, the surprised Norden struck him upside the head with the butt of the pistol. Mager collapsed to the ground and Norden trained the gun on him. He looked up to notice Naylor had drawn his pistol, and had it aimed at him.

"I really think you should turn around," Naylor stated flatly.

"And why should I do something as foolish as that?" Norden scowled.

"Because there is an alien behind you," Naylor replied tersely.

"You think I'm going to fall –"Norden started, but it was then that Norden realized Naylor's gun wasn't pointed directly at him. Instead, it was pointed slightly high and to the left. Slowly, Norden turned to look.

Just as Naylor had stated, a large, black alien hung from the ceiling. It was slowly stretching its arms out towards Norden. As the colonel tried to act, the alien pounced. Norden fell to the ground screaming, as the alien tore at him. Mager slowly backed away from the screaming colonel.

"Naylor, kill it," Katie warned, bending down to pick up her rifle.

Naylor stepped to the side and pulled his work gloves off his belt and started to slip them on. "Don't fire at it," he warned. "We don't want a hull breach right now."

"It's going to kill him," Farrell stated, horrified.

Mager had backed into his seat, and pulled his pulse rifle into his damaged hand. "What do you propose we do? Sing it a lullaby?"

The xenomorph seemed to hear the statement and looked up from the mangled body if the colonel. The lipless, bloody jaws turned toward Mager, and the marine tried to make himself as small as he could in the seat.

"Hey, ugly, over here," Naylor stated as he pulled what looked like a neon blue blanket off the wall.

The creature slowly turned toward Naylor, as if regarding him. It took a tentative step forward, and then hunched, baring its vicious fangs and swishing its barbed tail behind it.

"Naylor," Katie started to warn.

The creature suddenly leapt at Naylor, but he was ready. He tossed the electric blue material at the creature, and the black nightmare sailed into the material, becoming instantly engulfed. Naylor sidestepped the creature as it flew past him and slammed into the wall, bolts of blue electricity sparking as it touched the metal hull. The creature thrashed and writhed as a dull zinging sounded from the blue material.

"That's the predator net," Katie breathed. "It's electrified!"

"Everybody get out of here. Get in the gantry," Naylor stated. "Seal the door. I'm going to blow this thing out into space."

Katie rushed to grab the wounded Mager and helped him into the gantry. Farrell had enough sense to back into the gantry on his own. Naylor slipped into one of the wind suits hanging in the cargo bay and clipped himself to the wall near the gantry as the alien continued to thrash in the electrified net.

Once the gantry door slammed shut, Naylor activated the cargo bay controls to activate the ramp. A Klaxon sounded as a yellow warning light flashed within the bay. Slowly, the rear ramp slid open, and everything that wasn't nailed down began to slide toward the widening hole to space. One of the first things to slide out, in a slick red mass, was the remains of colonel Norden.

Naylor fought to hold himself steady against the increasing wind as he watched the alien being pulled from the wall where it fallen. The blue net flapped in the stiff suction, and with a sudden twist, the alien spun about as it flew toward open space. The blue net flew off the alien and whisked itself out of the open gap, disappearing into the vacuum outside.

No sooner had the electric net fallen off the alien that the creature's instincts returned. Realizing the danger it was in, it lashed out and caught the upper edge of the open cargo bay. Fighting against the wind, the creature pulled itself towards the nearest wall. It looked up to affix its eyeless gaze on Naylor, who was himself fighting to keep from being whisked away.

"God damn it," Naylor spat through gritted teeth, "Die damn you!"

The alien creature seemed unwilling to listen and managed to clamber over to the side wall of the dropship opposite Naylor. Then, with its powerful, long arms, it began to pull itself in, using the dangling straps and other purchases attached to wall to reel itself in.

Naylor would have to act fast. While the wind suit would keep the effects of the suction from harming him, the suit wasn't designed to last in pure vacuum. He scanned the cargo bay looking for something to get rid of the xenomorph with. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the perfect thing.

On the way in, he had strapped the heavy weapon pack to the wall a few meters from where he now stood, on the wall opposite the one the alien was clambering along. With grim determination, Naylor unstrapped himself and he hurled himself from the wall. The vacuum pulled at him, dragging him towards the open hole at the rear of the dropship. Naylor reached out and grasped at the chains on the wall beside the dangling spear. At first, his grip slipped, but then he managed to arrest himself and stop his approach to the maw of doom.

The alien, sensing Naylor's whereabouts, made a leap of its own. It sailed across the cargo bay to land effortlessly ahead of Naylor, less than a meter from the wildly swinging pack. Naylor gritted his teeth as the alien whirled to face him, hissing against the strangling wind of the growing vacuum.

The creature leaped at him, but Naylor managed to swing himself out of the way. The alien's claws however, caught Naylor's chain, snapping it. The creature easily found purchase on the wall, but Naylor slipped closer to the opening before he managed to finally arrest his fall less than a meter from the full vacuum of space. The violent pull of the escaping air threatened to tear him off the wall, but Naylor grimaced and wrapped his good arm in the chain and started a slow walk back toward the xenomorph and the pack.

Suddenly, the creature lunged at him, claws ready to tear him to pieces. Naylor swung up in response, slamming his boot into the creature's chin. The alien back-flipped as the wind tore at it, and it sailed past Naylor, barely catching the edge of a trailing chain dangling outside of the dropship. The thing wasted no time using its inhuman dexterity to begin clambering up the chain toward Naylor.

Naylor, seeing this, started to climb up the chain toward the spear. Unwrapping himself from the chain and slowly pulling himself forward, he made his way toward the spear. As he fought his way up, he could hear the alien clambering steadily and swiftly up the chains behind him. The air was getting thin, and the pull of the vacuum was lessening. Naylor was within millimeters now of the pack, and stretched out a hand to grasp it.

He was nearly torn from the chain as the alien bodily leapt up the chains to grasp Naylor's ankle. He felt the sharp claws dig into his flesh, and looked down to see the hissing alien struggling to gain a better purchase on Naylor. As its double jaws opened wide, it almost seemed to be laughing at him.

Stretching and struggling, Naylor reached for the pack. He fumbled with the straps, and the tugging alien kept him from grabbing hold of it. He strained and struggled, managing to free the strap that held the pack closed as he felt the last of the air slipping out of the cargo hold. He could see the barrel of a grenade launcher protruding from the pack, and the whole contents threatening to tip toward the open bay door. Then, with all his might, Naylor used all of his strength to leap for the pack, releasing the chain he had so desperately been holding on to.

Naylor's hands clenched about the grenade launcher, and the device was wrenched from the pack as the rest of the contents spilled out as well. Naylor and the alien fell towards the open gap, and it was the alien this time that found purchase first. The thing's tail wrapped around Naylor's leg, halting its flight outside. As Naylor dangled upside down, he could feel the alien drawing him up.

Naylor lined up his shot as the alien slowly hauled him closer. The selector was set to fire motion sensing mines, and Naylor did not have time to change the selector. The recoil hurled the grenade launcher out of Naylor's hands when he fired the weapon. It had misfired! The grenade sped true however, and caught the alien square through the cranium. The creature thrashed and released Naylor, and fell toward open space. At the last moment, the alien lashed out and caught the edge of the dropship's bay. It swayed for several seconds in the vacuum before it looked up towards Naylor and hissed. It was then Naylor caught sight of a blinking light from within the wound to the xenomorph's cranium. The grenade had armed itself, but Naylor wasn't sure why it didn't detonate. As Naylor watched, feeling the icy cold of space sift into his suit, the alien clambered back in, brushing its head against the top of the entryway as it climbed back in.

At the slight jarring, the grenade suddenly exploded, beheading the alien in a shower of acid. The last of the escaping air dragged the explosion and the decapitated alien out without a sound.

With Naylor's only tenuous grasp to the ship now gone, he too tumbled toward open space. He grabbed at the mass of chains and straps as he fell, but finally caught hold of the last chain dangling out of the back of the dropship. The last of the hold's air had finally escaped in one violent breath, and Naylor knew he had only a minute or so before his own air within the suit ran out. He started to haul himself up, but it was so far to the controls and the icy cold was already stiffening his muscles…

He was almost back in when the ramp began to cycle closed. Hauling himself up quickly, he managed to just barely get inside before the ramp sealed back shut. He lay inside the hold as he listened to fresh air being pumped into the cargo bay.

A moment later, the gantry door cycled open, and he found himself surrounded by Mager, Katie and Wilkins. As he was helped up to his feet, Naylor took the wind suit's helmet off and swallowed deeply.

"Who's flying the ship?" he asked.

"Farrell is," Wilkins replied sarcastically. Then he playfully punched Naylor in the shoulder. "Great shot on that alien, man."

"Are you all right?" Katie asked.

"I'll be fine," Naylor, gasped, though his torn arm now greatly bothered him after Wilkins's punch.

"Well, now where boss?" asked Mager.

Naylor smiled. "Orbit around P-133, of course. We'll put in a call to Earth and get us a ship sent to extract us." He casually glanced towards where the medical bay was, and where Farrell was likely resting. "We've got some interesting things to tell the brass."

Katie made a face, clearly indicating she didn't understand. Naylor patted her on the shoulder. He then looked away from the medical bay to ask her, "Is Farrell coherent?"

"Yes, I just have him lying down."

"I have something to discuss with him," Naylor stated, then added, "I think you two are going to want to hear this too."

Katie and Wilkins looked at each other, and then followed Naylor as he marched towards the medical bay.

Thirteen Hundred Hours, Two Weeks Later Aboard dropship Crimson One orbiting P-133

Wilkins had fallen asleep at the controls, his feet propped up on the control panel. Two weeks of stubble dotted his chin and even as he slept, his face twitched from the itchiness of the growing hairs.

Beside him, Naylor cradled a cup of coffee as he watched the various panels. It had almost been two weeks since they had escaped from Dengor base. They had restocked the ship with enough food for a month of sitting in space. With the power turned to minimal, they also had a month before the fuel would run dry.

In many ways, Naylor still felt hollow. Without Drafe, defeating McGarrett, Longman and their clones did not give him as much satisfaction as he would have liked. He missed Silvio's bewildered observations and regretted the loss of Suzie. However, it had been Katie who had taken the loss of Suzie the hardest. Mager had done his best to keep everyone in good spirits, but his attempts at humor reminded the others too much of Silvio, so the young marine had resorted to simply making sure enough coffee was available for everyone.

Farrell was perhaps in the worst shape. The medical bay had healed most of his burns, but the knowledge he was a clone – an experiment – was difficult for him to swallow. He had mostly kept to himself since the revelation, and Naylor felt sorry for him. He wondered how he would feel if he was notified he and all of his friends were merely clones. He still didn't believe Norden's claims himself - nothing more than the old man attempting to make one last attempt to crack his proud service record. A sudden thought hit him – if there was another base like Dengor somewhere, could he then clone Drafe and the others back to life? He tried not to think on it too long; the thought burned his mind with both the desire to have them back and his sorrow that they would only be copies, unable to truly replace the originals. They might look like his old friends, but they would have none of the memories, the experiences…

He was brought out of his thoughts as a flash of something caught his eye. He squinted at it, and then checked the instrument panel. "Hey," Naylor stated, prodding Wilkins.

It took Wilkins a moment to wake up. "What is it?" he asked wearily.

"Looks like the _Victorious_, a Conestoga class cruiser," Naylor stated. "I think our ride has arrived."

Wilkins eyes flicked to the control panel and he tapped the long range radar. "Yep," he said, pulling his feet down and starting the ship up. "I'm going to hail them."

Naylor smiled. It was finally over, for now. He'd lost friends and seen other marines die, but he had crushed those who caused their deaths. The _Victorious_ probably had nukes. It shouldn't be hard to convince her captain to perform an aerial bombardment on the remaining alien base on P-133.

And then, afterward, maybe they could get back to doing guard duty on Earth. It didn't sound so bad anymore…

*** End ***


End file.
